


Doom of the Gods

by KirscheLeibling



Series: The Time of Gods and Monsters [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Madness, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nightmares, Norse Myths & Legends, Ragnarok, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirscheLeibling/pseuds/KirscheLeibling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark awakes from a nightmarish hell to half-made notes and strange diagrams. This is the beginning of the end.</p><p> </p><p>
  <sub>Previously titled Fall*</sub>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 0. The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going through and editing (7/6/2013)

There are ashes falling from the sky like putrid, rancid snow. The once clean air is tainted with the foul stench of burnt _everything_ , bodies, bones and buildings because they were too late, the attack had happened too soon and everything is falling apart around them like a fragile glass ceiling with too many nicks and cracks where it has gone to the point of no return; the small shards are jagged and sharp and they each fall at the pin-drop of the pinnacle of each incident and explosion; each laceration, each gash in their exposed flesh is the price paid for each casualty for they are bare to the pain of the world.

It’s a beautiful Armageddon.

The skies are lit with fire in the darkness of the night, a fiery scarlet like a streak of blood smeared across the onyx abyss. There’s a faint veil of gray there, like smoke, or maybe… maybe it’s the haunted and mourning specters of the innocents that have perished thus far into this ailing nation and they’re there, crying in the night, looking for a brief respite or just hoping to be exercised, looking for a way to be saved after it was too late.

Maybe it’s worse than death, remaining to walk across the charred remains of pastures; the rubble of large cities or the scrapped remains of a once great civilization have become the mass graves of humanity. Nature is either running rampant or completely obliterated in areas and roses and vines rise in reparation, like flowers on a grave, through old sidewalks and crawl up high, abandoned skyscrapers.

Like any other pragmatic, morose reality that is so nightmarish and lucid it can only be a fantasy, a hellish illusion of a dystopia that runs on its own, a worldwide rendition or Ray Bradbury’s _There Will Come Soft Rains_ only darker, deadlier and slower; the world is slowly dying, bleeding out as the plague works its way from one ocean to another, through continent to continent—the _human_ plague.

The air is still and chilly; the temperatures never quite rise above scorching and never dip down to _absolute zero_ , either. There’s the constant shift from the two that mark the days, months and years that pass by without a hitch but there is no _time_. _Time_ : the concoction of man in order to control nature, tame it, yet it is nature itself that dictates the rise and fall, the ebb and flow of humanity and the universe in and of itself.

 _A singe wristwatch, with black straps, silver deployant and casing, raven painted numerals and frozen hands stretched across a blank, cracked face lays across the battlefield—for what more can this place be than the final resting place for the Earth’s mightiest, and what less can it be than the first, last and most pivotal battle field? It whispers a meek “4:15” in the roar of the surrounding debris, of the curses and cries of the fallen ones._

There are still some—some men, women, hardly any children and it’s like evolution but regressing; savages, all of them, scouring the land for nourishment, and in some cases cannibalism is salvation. Blood is just another stain in the earth, another mark on the flesh; bone is just another tool, another piece to the pile; words have lost meaning; thoughts are a simple, focusing completely and utterly on Maslow’s most basic step: physiological fulfillment, breathing dank air, drinking infected water, eating what they find and sleeping where possible.

Ignorance, no, utter defiance of higher powers had caused the pestilence. Folly had been the start of the war, not human, mortal irrationality but that of a woman, not human but just as greedy, just as vain. She caused the tides of war to turn; she single-handedly wiped out the heroes that could stop her before they caught wind of her plans; she simply wanted _him_. Both brothers perished, hand in hand, together in the carefully executed void she died to create, for if she could not have him then _no one would_ and in doing so, the world was plunged into ethereal darkness and swallowed up by obliteration.

 _Do not let her complete her dastardly deeds. If the tower crumbles then the world will fall apart; if the skies turn dark and pour their grief unto the world without mourning; if the light in the heart of the savior is extinguished before it is able to truly alight; if the brothers hold together as they gasp and cry for air; if the Tesseract remains in her quivering grasp when all is done—_

 _So much must be done in order to prevent the apocalypse. The savior must gain what he truly desires and then be lost in the crosshairs of time, space and matter and energy. He must sacrifice who he is and give up his heart to the people—all in order to save a world that doesn’t know it needs saving._

 _Wake up._

 _Wake up._

 _Wake—_

“—ony!”

 _—up_

“—ammit, wake--”

 _Wake up._

“Tony!” Someone shouts and Tony jumps, has a little moment where he’s suspended in a violent, defensive mind-set before realizing that a) he’s not in bed, b) he’s in his lab, no longer looking over this desolate landscape and c) Steve is looking fretful and fearful,  kneeling beside Tony’s head with a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Wha’?” Is Tony’s slurred response, because Steve shouldn’t expect anything but sleepy, groggy responses from a recently awaken Tony. “Shtebe? Wa’s you doin’ in my—no, no, what’er you doin’, what am _I_ doing on da, da floor?” Tony mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to wipe the last ghostly remnants of his nightmare from his mind’s eye.

“I came in and you were collapsed on the ground, so I’m guessing that you don’t know how that happened.” Steve looks a little less wary and more annoyed now. Tony grunts and nods, trying to sit up. Steve helps by placing his other hand on Tony’s shoulder and hefting him up by the shoulders, aiding Tony until the other man is sitting up, albeit leaning on Steve more than relying on his own strength.

“I dunno, I remember… I was looking at some schematics for-for uhh… shit, I don’t even remember and then I got… dizzy-ish?” Tony looked contemplatively at Steve, as if looking for agreement, before continuing, “well, I must have collapsed and fell off the workbench and then you woke me up and here we are. Oh, man. My head is _killing_ me. I need, uh, whassit called, c-c-c….coffee, that it! Ha! I knew there was a reason I’m a genius, coffee and some aspirin and I’ll be back on top of everythi—Cap, Steve, no fair, stop _looking_ at me like that, like I’ma tip over and _die_ , it’s unnerving as hell, like waking up to Clint sleeping with his eyes open beside your bed-brand of unnerving.”

Seriously, Steve’s eyes where a bit far-away, as if thinking deeply about every word Tony said, his arms shaking a little, the slightest and Tony only felt it because his arms where still holding Tony, his body was still holding Tony up. Steve blinked his eyes a few times, the clear blue slowly losing its haze. He cleared his throat and shook his head, still a little stiff and tense but no longer quivering.

“There was a call for the Avengers but, since you didn’t come to the hangar, they sent me to find you. Imagine my surprise when I found you collapsed.” Steve’s following chuckle was dry and forced; Tony winced and sighed.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Hardly any sleep and, you know,” Tony flapped his hand up and down, as if to say ‘ _well you know…’_   and finally used his liquefied muscles to hold himself up, moving away from the warmth and support of Steve’s hard body. “I’m fine, though, really.”

“No, you’re not, Tony. Don’t even think about trying to prove otherwise; I’m going back to meet the rest of the team, and when we come back--”

“—you can’t possibly think you’re leaving me behind—”

“— _when we come back_ , we’ll have a serious talk about your health habits and that’s that.” Steve states, in that ‘I’m Captain America, you better listen to what I say (or suffer the consequence of my disappointed stare)’ tone and, seriously now, that look should be _illegal_ because it’s a weapon in and of itself. Not even Natasha can stand that look.

“Steve, I’m not gonna’ just sit here while the whole team goes out on a mission, I _need_ to be there with you!” Tony retorts and he can’t stop the more panicked tone that’s rising, can’t help but feel apprehensive because he can’t let his team down, he has to be there because—what if he’s needed? What is someone is hurt and he can’t _help_ because he hasn’t slept right in the past week and a half? “I’m part of the Avengers, Steve, I’m coming.”

“Right now, you’re being stubborn. You’re a liability, Tony, and if you are there on the frontline with us and you get hurt I-I…” Steve trails off as he stands, runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair and finally looks at Tony once more. “You’re staying here. That’s an order.”

It hurts much more than it probably should. Tony doesn’t respond, or maybe can’t, judging by the size of the stone that’s stuck in his throat. He would like to shout—boy, that’d make him feel better, or maybe just sulk but Tony Stark, Iron Man, billionaire-playboy philanthropist engineer does not sulk, contrary to popular belief. So, instead, Tony wills the knot in his throat to unwind, pushes his nails into his palms and watches Steve’s retreating back, waits for the faint echo of his boots on the linoleum to disappear completely and then rises to his own feet. There are notes and half-completed drawings of something that looks like the arc reactor but at a larger and less complex scale. There’s a hunk of metal, some adapter cables, a car battery (Tony’s gaze carefully avoids this object the rest of the observation) and some copper coils amidst the crumpled papers.

“Hey, Jarvis, can you prepare me the video feed from the workshop from last night? And some coffee,” Tony states blandly, eying all the seemingly random materials and evidence of his fresh insomnia bout.

“Yes, sir. The video will be directly uplinked into any motor you so desire; Coffee is already heated and waiting for your consumption in the kitchen,” comes Jarvis’ crisp mechanical voice. “Is that all, sir?”

Tony hesitates for a moment, still looking over the tools and notes on the work counter before hefting a heady sigh. “Is he gone yet?” There’s a momentary lapse of silence before Jarvis responds.

“Captain Rogers is currently in the main lobby, standing beside the elevator. I do believe the Captain is the ‘he’ you refer to.” Jarvis’ voice is bland and a little bored. Tony worries that maybe his Artificial Intelligence is less artificial than it should be before shrugging. It’s too early—or late, he hasn’t checked the time yet— to be thinking about all of this without a cup of coffee.  Tony doesn’t curse everything and everyone under his breath as he clambers up the steps to the hallway; there’s no way to prove he did, anyway.

The hallway is empty, save for a few framed sketches and charcoal drawings that are framed and hanging off the eggshell-white walls. The lights are off and all that resounds and reverberates though the vacancy is the _whirl_ - _click_ - _clack_ of various machines in the numerous rooms. The tower is starting to feel like a home, except when devoid of Avengers, and the walls have started to adapt the smell of smoke and excitement; the kitchen, at the end of the hallway, is radiating the aroma of coffee and comfort and warmth.

Tony goes to the sink that automatically turns on as he moves his hands beneath the faucet. The sink makes a gurgling noise at it slowly drains away the murky water; Tony looks on blankly, mind otherwise preoccupied before shaking his head and making a beeline for the warm coffee waiting for him in the coffee maker.

The first cup goes down without notice, as does the second and third. Tony’s leaning against the counter, working on his fourth cup when Jarvis’ voice pipes up from the silence, shattering any peace and tranquility.

“I have the video footage of last night from the time you entered at eighteen-oh-four up to when Captain Rogers woke you at ten thirty-eight this morning. Would you like me to sift through, frame by frame for any strange occurrences?”

“Yeah, and try to get me some information on what I was working on, If I asked you to save any holograms or schematics and the works, If I say anything out of the usual then mark that down, too.” Tony pauses for a moment, going over what he just ordered and nods. “Any interference, you get me, right?”

“Yes, sir. I understand your request. I will have a complete time table ready in a few minutes, sir.”

Tony nods in affirmation and finishes his cup, refills it and makes his way back to the lab downstairs. “Lights at sixty three percent” he orders smoothly, making his way past chrome fixtures. The lights brighten and Tony deposits his cup on one of the emptier counters, licks his lips of all residues and makes his way to the main workbench.

The first sheet of paper is just a few equations; the rate of change of the explosive level of some sort of strange element he can’t even make out—the molecular structure drawn is completely surreal. The next sheet is blank but crumpled nonetheless, and almost all the sheets are just as this one, he realizes, bunching them into two separate piles.

The next sheet has a drawing, a literal illustration. There’s a hand that’s outstretched, the cross-hatching making each finger stand out, each little shade exact; in its palm is a box, small and incurious with light edge protectors, some sort of swirling on its surface that is lighter than the cube itself. There’s a neat scrawl in the bottom, not his own messy chicken-scratches but neater and slants slightly.

 _“Hand in your heart”_

But the rest of the sentence is scratched and scribbled into incoherency.

Probably one of Steve’s. Tony put the sketch in a new, third pile.

The next page he took from what he dubbed the “not useless trash” pile was a little more lucid.  It had a pattern, almost an exact duplicate of the one on the illustration of the cube, and some notes beneath the intricate drawing. “Wishes come true, though the very fabric of reality is altered. The complexities of granting a single desire may lead to the unraveling of the universe itself, causing an inter-dimensional ripple through time, space, matter and energy. This, however, is one of the safety features of the ––––––––– is to make the desire come true without necessarily unraveling the cosmos, thus some input may not be followed through in its entirety.”

That… was some pretty heavy quantum science, but he lived by battling in a metal suit, his heart was still beating because of the arc reactor and Thor technically was another worldly being so the notes didn’t seem too strange.

It was all in his writing, though; there was no mistaking that. Somehow he had ended up spending a good four hours crumbling papers and writing about planetary travels. That didn’t seem to be completely true, though. Still, Tony would have to wait until Jarvis was done sifting through a good fourteen hours of video and sound feed. Tony sighed, picked up the model that he had, apparently, made the night before, and studied his handiwork.

It was almost an exact replica of the arc reactor, the dimensions where a little off and it was a few inches bigger than the one currently in his chest. The inside was hollow, though, and there was no space for the Vibranium though, and the hollow area seemed to have some inner depressions at odd intervals. Tony sighs, puts the model down atop the pile of actual notes and leans back.

Eight nights. It’s been eight nights in a row that, despite his typical overworking and overthinking mind that overrides the need for sleep, he can’t even take a nap, can’t sleep even when the fatigue is bone deep and mind numbing.  It’s more or less due to the hellish, frightening images that burn themselves into his memories, linger in the shadows. There’s the voice, gentle and earnest and vexed that speaks to him, pleas to him and he can’t understand what it wants, what he should do.

But it begs him every night, and the more he tries to remember what he sees and hears but the more he remembers the more he forgets.

A rush of static and deep breathing breaks his musings, the speakers in the workshop tweaking the signal for less interference and better resolution. The only line that had a direct uplink to the Tower, much less Tony’s work room was the Avenger’s communication lines; Tony had hacked into the S.H.I.E.L.D. database and cross-wired the satellite signals so that JARVIS could also pick up on the intercom.

“T—y there’s something…. You to nee-- to see, it’s—I don’t…. I don’t know what it could….” The voice would blurt out through the tumult and commotion. It sounded a little like Peter, though much more hysterical; there was a loud crash in the background downing out the next few words until, suddenly, all the noises died down.

“Jarvis, reroute the message, try to triangulate the signal, remove the attachment to S.H.I.E.L.D. if you have to, I’m getting ready.” Tony shouted as he looked around the piles of boxes and tools for the suitcase. With a little ‘ah ha!’ under his breath, Tony drops the suitcase and kicks the handle, causing it to pop open. He slides his feet into the boots, presses up and the rest of the armor automatically begins to click into place, climbing up higher and higher on his body, Tony locks the gauntlets into place and soon, in a span of barely a few seconds, he’s fully sheathed in his armor.

 **< _Configuring…_ >**

 **< _Error message_ #247: The signal has been blocked or is no longer in active service.>**

“Fuck, fuck what the hell is going _on_ now this is why I should _be_ there _fuck fuckity shit_!” Tony spits each curse into the whirling messages and sighs as he commands the top-sliding roof to open. He starts up his boots and starts up into the air, sending new commands into the armor.

 **< _Rerouting satellite signal…_ >**

 **< _Obtaining signals…._ >**

 **< _Gathered signals_ : S-Rogers* 98%; Nat-Romanova`… 96%; Thor` 56%; P-Parker`-27%>**

 **< _Triangulating signal area…_ 43%>**

 **< 89%>**

 **< _The closest signal is_ 37.8 miles north-east, Nat-Romanova` _with a signal of_ 95%. _Activate communications?_ >**

“No, automatic pilot to P-Parker’s signal, it’s the weakest right now so he’s fighting some pretty big interference. Open communication line with S-Rogers.” Tony directs, launching off in the direction of Peter’s already weak signal.  A dozen more commands appear before his eyes until there’s the clear sound of a battle underway and harsh breathing.

“Ironman, this isn’t really the right _time--_ ”

“No, yeah, it’s the best time, couldn’t have been a better time because Spiderman needs my help, called in, too, and you shouldn’t have left me it the tower, what kind of a—anyway, I’m on my way to Spidey’s signal and I just really need the 4-1-1 on what the hell is going on, since some mother hen decided that my place is in the home. Thank you for that. Really.” Tony rolls his eyes, can see the smoke rising in the distance and swallows a little thickly.

“I- _dammit_ —I can’t tell what they are, it’s like they keep banishing it’s very annoying; Thor should know, I could only catch half of his whole spiel, sorry.” There’s the low hum, the sound of Captain America’s shield being tossed and then footsteps on gravel.

“Connect to Thor” Tony directs as he dodges some buildings and trees.

 **< _Connecting to_ Thor` >**

 **< _23%_ >**

 **< 67%>**

 **< _Connected. Networking lines; lines connected. Network open._ >**

“Thor! Ol’ buddy ol’pal, what are we facing?” Tony chirps into the connected lines.

“Antony! The night with the armor made of iron, what possesses you to speak through the invisible receiver directly to my own person?”

“I’m just going to pretend I know what you just said—Thor, we need to know what we’re up against.” Tony replies, landing on top of a smoky and charred liquor store. There are a few strange creatures that look like wisps of smoke, thick white smoke that took the form of women, thin and tall, elegant and majestic but all the while they screeched and brought up chunks of concrete with only their faint, opaque hands.

“These, great Antony, are the Landvættir, kind and gently spirits of the land that promote thriving of the land that they guard.”

“Oh, damn I knew I should have paid more attention to my Mythology 110 class in Uni, I knew  it, sitting there half asleep thinking to myself ‘I should pay attention because one day I’ll be fighting these things in a metal suit along with a super-soldier, a Norse god, a photographer and a Russian Assassin’.” Tony sighs and continues on his path to find Peter somewhere among the blurred and rapidly fluctuating signals his armor depicts.  “Point is, do you know how to stop them?”

There was a moment of silence, followed by a few seconds of battling.

“They only wish to return to Asgard, for they know not that this corruption of land is simply society to you Midgardians. Somehow they slipped into a portal and brought here, they will stand down until they may return to their rightful territories.” Thor’s voice booms, carefully and a little bit hesitant but joyous nonetheless. Tony pauses for a second as he nears Peter’s signal. There’s an old Theatre that’s being covered by a tumbled over tree that’s on fire, the fire dancing across the log like a bunch of gypsies, far too big for a simple wood fire.

“I have a question…” Tony trails off, scanning the area for heat signatures. The cold spots are the spirit things… Landvættirs or what-not, and there’s no heat signature on the fallen tree.

“What?” Steve huffs out.

“Brother Tony, what is it that you ponder to your comrades?”

“Who exactly _let them through?_ ” Tony finally voices, not stepping near the illusion. The silence across the link is very reassuring.

“I… do not know.” Thor replies,” this does not look like my brother Loki’s brand of mischief, though there are no other Asgardians that are capable of fooling any Asgardian creature of lore to come to Midgard, or a single sorcerer whom enters this mortal realm besides my Loki.”

Both Steve and Tony pointedly hold back any comment on that ‘ _my’_. There are a few topics never broached, never thought twice about and the Thor-Loki pseudo incestuous love-hate relationship is probably somewhere on the top five. Sadly, the list is fairly extensive. 

“Then maybe someone else from Asgard?” Steve tries. “Give me a second and we’ll regroup, Black Widow? Get to the main street. Thor, I’m in your near vicinity. Ironman, are you close to our spots? Have you met up with Spiderman yet?” Steve says in his most authoritative tone, the sound of him running somewhat louder than before.

“You’re at least five city blocks away from me, I’m closer to Spidey anyway. There’s this theatre that’s looking run down, a tree burning in front but no heat signature; the Jarvis reported a signal scrambler so I haven’t heard from Spiderman since his first transmission. I’m going in; you guys regroup and come on by.” Tony starts taking his first measured steps toward the main entrance, studying the shuffling wraiths that are standing along the patches of grass, laying and sitting or standing but fretting nonetheless, looking on with blank faces as Tony steps past rubble and collapsed buildings.

It should appear that the Avengers had already quarantined the city before the actual fight. Most of the buildings are already broken down and decayed beyond reasonable living. The sidewalks where cracked where tree roots had breached the surface and weeds where growing in the asphalt. A few more steps and he’d be in the scrambler zone.

“OK, I’m entering the no-zone, so over-and-out, I guess.” Tony murmured into the intercom before shutting himself out completely. He entered the scrambled zone and paused momentarily as the electronics on his armor went haywire for a second before completely stabilizing. He walked past the fallen tree and up the faded and grimy scarlet carpets, past the center ticket booth and into the main doors.

He stood for a moment, inexplicably nervous, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach and the words that came to his mind where far-off, like from a distant memory or a half-remembered dream.

“ _Do not let her complete her dastardly deeds._ ”

“Tony? Tony!” Steve shouted through the intercom, running through the newly abandoned streets at full speed, trying to get back to the Main Street and, most importantly, Tony. He still didn’t think that Tony was okay like he had made himself seem, and the fact that he had simply went into some strange theater with an _illusion_ cast just outside with no way of speaking to any of them he was-was—

Dammit, Steve was _worried_.

“Captain, may I suggest you keep identities under wraps?” Came Natasha’s cold, clinical voice over the brief silence. “Ironman said that he was entering the scrambled zone so he won’t hear you, anyway.” Natasha reminds blandly. “I met up with Thor, we’re nearing the theatre Ironman and Spiderman entered, we’re behind you, and so you can go ahead and get to him.”

Steve nodded to himself and took off to the right.

Tony walked over the doorway, over the last remnants of the glass doors, and made his way to the main lobby, eying the concession stands and the two branching hallways. He smirked and followed the dark passage with the glimmering webbing hanging from the archway. He kept going further down, his suit seeing through the thick darkness, following the web residue left behind by Peter’s canisters.

The trail ended at Auditorium 15. Tony took a deep breath and listened.

 **< Audio: +23%>**

“I can’t—it open; too much…” A woman’s voice, low and entrancing.

“Curse you… untie…I will kill you!” More familiar; Loki, angry and cursing. Wait—Loki and who else? If Loki was making death threats then maybe…

Sure enough, with a slow push of the door and a quick glance, there was a woman in the room with Loki; Loki was… indisposed, bound by some sort of white light around his wrists above his head. The more common jade sweater was riding up because of the stretching due to the binds, the dark blue jeans riding a little low and there was a perfectly purple bruise on his cheekbone, matching perfectly with his busted lip. There was a fire in his eyes, a deep hatred that scared Tony, and if looks could kill the woman would be combusting by now.

Peter was on the ceiling, in his more modern black and white costume, slowly edging towards the two. The woman, thankfully, had her back against the two; she was tall, like most Asgadians, with long blonde hair billowing behind her, outstretched hands aimed towards the torn screen, a swirling portal right in the epicenter. She grunted, made a loud cry and pushed forward with her palms forward and _something_ happened.

A blinding white light flashed brightly for a few seconds before shattering in a myriad of colors. The fading particles of dazzling lights were dimming against the abysmal backwash of absolute darkness, overshadowed by the furrows of violet and orange; stars and galaxies within reach and yet light-years away. The air is still with the presence of the cosmos, thick with untapped power that electrifies the air like static electricity.

The long tresses of gold settle over smooth, unmarred shoulders and over the emerald green, leather straps and plates; the hard but malleable armor is skin-tight and weightless. The slim build gives no heed to the strength welded deep within the ethereal woman, though her thin waist and long legs give her figure an elegant essence. She's slightly battered, scratches running along her upper arm, and there's a bruise fitted nicely on her wrist.

Tony watches, in awe and fear, as the portal flickers for a split second; arms raise and hands splay, further apart than before, fingers stiff as the opening bends and warps with depleting power. The air crackles as the energy spikes and ebbs. The portal shrinks marginally; the stars fade away into endless space.

Tony’s sensors report a sudden drop in temperature and he takes a cautious step back as the Landvættir all tapered by, sliding past the door and down the small isle towards the portal. They all seemed to turn their heads and hiss as they made to enter the portal. She turned towards them slightly, crying out:

“You _fools_!” She hisses as the portal purses its lips shut. “Dammit, Loki, you traitor, you said that they would remain under my control!”

“Ah, but how could you ever believe that I would side with you, Amora? It is truly astonishing, your naïveté or perhaps it is simply your inanity.” Loki sneers and looks up at the cuffs on his wrists, mutters something under his breath and the light fades away. He looks up at Spiderman, gives a curt nod and chuckles.

“Loki--” Amora starts and turns towards Loki, unbeknownst to the arachnid-man that is cautiously approaching her and unseeing of Ironman coming down the left isle.

“You claimed to want to return home, Amora, do not think I do not know what it is you truly want. You want _him_ , always have; so see now, see _here_ I will _not_ let you harm him, you will not lay hand nor sight on Thor Odinson!” Loki bellows and the torn and burnt red curtains hanging limply beside the screen suddenly hisses to life and begins to craw off the wall, slithering towards the tall blonde.

“He will be _mine!_ ” Amora hisses as she sends some sort of sparks towards the scarlet serpent; her hands move forward to throw the incantation just as Peter shoots a web and her hands lurch forward with the force of the webbing; she topples forward and the curtain wraps itself around her body, lifting her up with pressure alone.

“Spiderman!” Tony shouts as Peter kicks off the ceiling and lands precariously on his hind legs, hunched forward. He’s up to the first isle already, hand splayed open and ready to fire just in case. “Back-up is on the way; they should be arriving momentarily.” He asserts and Peter nods; lack of names should be prominent by now, judging by what Loki had said.

“Good, I have no idea what the hell is going on but Asgardian versus Asgardian never ends well; it’s like reading Superman verses Wonder Woman: terrifying, hot, but destructive nonetheless.” Peter whines, using his infinite wisdom of fictional graphic novels as the perfect leeway.

Loki, by now, is tuning them out, focusing only on trapping Amora in his newly made pet.

“I should kill you right here, right now for your vanity knows no bounds; in fact…” Loki trails off, a completely demented grin spreading grimly across his face as Amora gasps; the curtain is constricting tighter; a normal man’s ribs would be broken by now, their lungs compressed past the level of  breathing; a mortal man would be dead by now but, no, Amora is living, her lips moving without speaking.

“Get out of the way!” Loki shouts as he cautiously takes a step back. Peter leaps back to the ceiling but  Tony has less time, less agility and can only brace himself as a flutter of fire surrounds Amora, spreads and causes a wave of fiery destruction. Loki defends himself with an ice replica of his own form, shooting the ice block forward in his stead.

“I will _destroy_ you!” She shrieks, changing her stance. Tony, whom had recoiled from the attack, nears once more. She turns towards him, eyes wild, and Tony freezes mid-step.

“Iron--”

 _\--understand that that is the face of apocalypse, the look of madness incarnate; her wicked lust will turn the world into ash._

 _“Steve!” It’s him, it’s Tony shouting and he’s rushing forward a second too late. Steve’s there, in his full Captain America garb, looking utterly and completely shocked. There’s a projectile stuck in his chest, the end of the shard still sticking out right where his heart is. For a moment Tony foolishly believes he’s okay, that Steve will simply march forward and save him, but no, Steve lurches forward, eyes the shard in his chest and pales dramatically._

 _“T-Tony?” He whispers, unsure, and looks at Tony with tears in his eyes. Tony can’t move; the binds in his wrists digging in painfully, burning as he tugs forward, trying to get to Steve._

 _“Steve, Steve dammit, don’t--don’t do this, please! You have to-to get up, please you can’t--”_

 _It changes. Suddenly she’s there, holding this cube in her shaky hands, tears streaming down her face._

 _“They did this, they took him from me, I want them all—I want them all **destroyed**!” She sounds hysterical, holding the cube but she can’t see that the shards that are broken off will change this, change her wish. The building behind her, crumbled and in flames, rumbles with the power of the Cosmic Cube._

 _“I want to **kill them all!** ”_

 _It’s different but not; it’s only moments earlier and he’s watching but can’t do a thing as Thor falls, eyes locked with Loki’s and blood running down his chest in thick streams._

 _“Thor! Thor, oh, brother, why must you be such an idiot!” Loki is crying and his hand hovers above the gaping wound in Thor’s chest, the light touching the gash tentatively and then dying out._

 _“Ay, an idiot but mine injuries assured your safety and that’s all I could ask for… the most… noblest… of deaths…” Thor cracks a bloody, goofy grin and Loki lets out a half-laugh half-sob._

 _“No, you won’t die, I--”_

 _But Loki’s eyes widen and close slowly._

 _There’s madness in her eyes, a gun in her hand. The second shard already fired out, the first deep within Steve’s chest._

 _The building groans with the force of opening the portal._

 _The portal closes promptly._

 _The building falls._

 _The world dies._

 _Fire._

 _Fire._

 _Fire._

 _“You have to stop her before--”_

“--ake up”

 _“Give in to your heart and--”_

“Please. Please, Wa--”

 _“Live freely.”_

“TONY!”

Tony gasps as the dream-state wears off and the pain in his shoulder starts to set in. He’s lying across the floor, the armor in pieces on either side of his body, a sure sign of someone using the override code. The auditorium room is suddenly alight, shining down on Steve’s worried expression.

“What-what the hell--” Tony starts and, with a startled gasp, quickly sits up. “Where is she, we have to stop her, Steve, Steve, she’s going to do some terrible, terrible shit and we have to stop her, get Thor the hell away from here, send him back to _Asgard_ if you have to but you can’t--”

“Tony, calm down.” Steve puts a hand on Tony’s uninjured shoulder and pushes him down gently. “Thor isn’t going anywhere and we won’t send him to Asgard for no reason at all; the woman--”

“Amora” Spiderman pipes up

“Yeah, Amora, she got away when she struck you in the shoulder with god knows what kind of acid, when we came in she threw it, it popped, you just kind of stood there and hen Peter tried to attack back she disappeared into the wall.”

“And Loki?” Tony asks, trying to press on. He figured Loki helping out there was a pretty important fact.

“My Brother had his hand in such a misdeed!” Thor booms, startling Tony. Tony tilts his head back and gets an upside-down image of Thor, who sort of looks like he’s smiling but it’s probably a frown.

“Not… exactly.” Tony deadpans. “I was a little late in entering so Pete probably has better details. From what I saw, though, he was trying damn hard to stop her.”

“OH, yeah!” Peter squeaks, “It was crazy! He was giving me signals and everything, telling me when to move and I think that for a moment he even covered me with an illusion, It was all bang! Bang! Crash! ‘I will never forgive you’, ‘I am bound but not really’ and It was really weird but okay in a way…” Peter continued his senseless babble while Tony tuned him out.

“Tony, there’s a lot you’re not telling us. Not telling _me,”_ Steve gives Tony a pointed look that’s more hurt than anything and any retort is swallowed by the look, “and although I know you’re the kind of guy that doesn’t want to bother others with his own problems, or you’d rather ignore them until they pass but this, this that’s going on right now, this isn’t something you can just sit out. It’s affecting you and it’s affecting the missions--”

“—I’m _fine,_ just a little tired--”

“ _This_ isn’t being tired, Tony!” Steve shouts, more exasperated than angry. “You’ve been getting progressively worse; don’t you dare deny it. You don’t sleep, you don’t _eat_ and now you’re—you’re passing out or spacing out, _I don’t know_ what but it’s been a week already and you’re not getting better.” Steve heaves a heavy sigh, pulling off the cowl and looks at Tony with resignation. “I know it’s getting worse, Tony.”

“Well, aren’t you awfully attentive—” Tony starts, trying to derail the conversation altogether.

“Of course I am; I notice everything you do!” Steve shouts back in retaliation. There’s a light flush on his cheeks but when _doesn’t_  Steve blush, really—and something in Tony’s mind, or chest, gets a little warm and fuzzy and for a moment he thinks it might be a stroke but it’s much, much worse. He pushes that aside and focuses on more important topics, like the throbbing pain in his shoulder and the strange illusions that plague his every moment.

“I can, can we do this later?” Tony whispers, still sore and aching. “Not trying to be so dismissive but my shoulder feels like it wants to expulse the bone through the muscle and skin and, yeah, _ouch_ , can you please not touch it?” Tony winces as Steve brushes the white oil-stained muscle shirt Tony had on that same morning.

“Sorry…” Steve mumbles, hand still extended towards the burn. “You just have to take the shirt off, then, since you’re being a baby about me trying to examine the burn--”

“—absolutely no way. Sorry, the chemicals can burn straight away to the bone; I’m not taking my shirt off.” Tony grinds out blandly.

“Tony, now’s not the time to start acting like a dame, we’ve all seen you without a shirt, and missing much, much more.” Steve growls. “The damn thing she tossed at you melted the armor like plastic, take. The damn. Shirt. _Off_.” Steve commands in his best authoritative tone.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that moving my arm will make it fall off but _no._ ” Tony’s snide tone seems to make some modicum of patience in Steve crumble to dust because suddenly he’s all but straddling Tony, tugging at the bottom of his shirt with barely any force, seemingly afraid to rip the stained and worn t-shirt.

And, yeah, maybe this has been the start of a few of Tony’s fantasies—heat-of-the-battle, amidst rubble, adrenaline pumping sex; Steve’s trying to _help_ him, though, and half of the Avengers are here already, watching them or looking away. Tony realizes quite suddenly what’s going to happen, and in clear picture too.

Steve will see the arc reactor, be immediately disgusted, repulsed, then he’ll be looking at Tony with _pity_ and that would be the worse part of it all, wouldn’t it? Steve will know how Tony’s really heartless, see the scars and know that the guilt that falls on Tony’s shoulders is etched in his skin. He’s going to shy away, he’s going to look away and pretend to have not seen a thing because the scars are testament to how cold and _human_ and weak Tony is.

Steve rolls his eyes and rips off the shirt, ignoring Tony’s protest in order to wrap the shreds on Tony’s upper arm, pressing another torn fragment into the burnt skin just above the makeshift bandage. Tony pointedly ignored the Super soldier, choosing, rather, to look at the broken and rotting theater seats. Peter’s still babbling about the fight to an eager Thor, Natasha is just slinking down the aisle, eying everything in sight. They’re a bit off towards the other end of the front screening area, their words incomprehensible from where the two are.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. say they want us to come in and give a full report on what happened; Natasha and Peter can handle that, though.” Steve pauses for a moment, waiting for Tony to look at him but the man doesn’t; his petulant gaze remains elsewhere and Steve resists the urge to turn Tony around and force him to see Steve, see the worry and anxiety that eats away at his sanity because Tony just suddenly came into his life, seventy years into the future, and became this-this big, colossal part of Steve’s life, one he thought he could never get back but with Tony it’s easy to be himself; losing Tony would be like losing Bucky again, like losing _Peggy_.

“Tony.” Steve repeats and he is slightly startled by the flinch that shifts him atop of Tony’s body. “Tony,” Steve whispers, leaning forward,” please, just look at me.”

Slowly, so nerve-wrenchingly slowly, Tony turns eyes unsure. Steve breathes in sharply, opens his mouth and—

“Ah, here you all are. The signals are still being scrambled so we couldn’t find you, looked around for a bit; we’re ready for you outside. Two wounded, correct?” The S.H.I.E.L.D. operative looks at the small group and shrugs. “There’s a medic in the ‘copter, let’s move out; Director Fury wants you all in his office ASAP,” he breaths and the team is amazed at how much the young man can spill out in a single breath. There’s terse silence as the Peter and Thor shuffle towards the exit of the Auditorium; Natasha quickly leaps and stalks out the door without a sound and Steve gets off of Tony, spares a glance at the once again hidden and guarded expression and sighs.

“I’ll be fine. Go up ahead; need to, uh… restore the system for the armor so that I can walk out of here in more than a torn up shirt and some old jeans, looks bad for team publicity.” Tony mutters as he sits up, clicking the gauntlets back into place. Steve nods, replaces his cowl and sluggishly steps to the gaping doorway and into the hall.

Tony takes his time clicking the armor back in, piece by piece, murmuring different codes to unravel the system overrides; the different components start to click back into place, skimming up his bare chest until he’s finally standing in his mostly re-formed armor.

Tony takes a deep breath, lets it out in a loud sigh and slides the faceplate down.

“Sir, there seems to be a problem with--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that the shoulder plate is melted and the armor was breached by some sort of chemical agent.” Tony reiterates, rolling the injured shoulder, satisfied with the wet crack it gives as it shifts back into place.

“How very astute, sir, although I should point out to you that I have a system message that claims that you were rendered unconscious for quite an amount of time.” It should be impossible for an AI to sound so smug. Why oh why does Jarvis sound so haughty? “I have studied the video monitoring of the workshop and have very meticulously analyzed every moment for any discrepancies in your attitude and typical mannerisms; any visual and audio inconsistencies have been drawn out of the feeds and put into a chronological timeline.”

“Great.” Tony groans,” how much is there?”

“The first noted change in your psyche, according to my analysis of your behavioral traits, attitude, gestures, norms; quirks, gesticulations, and idiosyncrasies occurs at nineteen-oh-five; there are a total of forty-seven strange incidences in physical manifestation, eighteen audio incongruities that are being evaluated and secured for better listening; it appears that you had collapsed at twenty-seventeen and hadn’t woken until Captain Rogers entered the lab.”

Tony listened to Jarvis’ summary as he left the Auditorium, down the hall and out the broken front door. He watched various images pop up on his screen, even as Steve said something to the S.H.I.E.L.D. officer by the chopper.  

“Ok, give me all the gory details when I arrive back at the tower.” Tony dismisses, flapping a hand up and down in front of Steve’s troubled expression, as if to wave off any and all worries.

“Sir, perhaps you should wait until these episodes subside.” Jarvis offers.

“You and Steve are just the same—”

“Perhaps Captain Rogers and I retain a strong argument.”

“Sometimes I think you’re both out to get me.” Tony murmurs under his breath.

“We both just care about your well-being, sir.” Jarvis pipes up and if he wasn’t a machine Tony would swear it was laughing at him.  “I will auto-program the armor to arrive straight to Stark Tower and lock it until another emergency is called in, sir.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Tony sighs, looking on blankly as Thor begins to spin Mjolnir, ready to take off; Natasha is already in the helicopter cabin on the receiver with someone that is most likely Fury, hopefully to get a perimeter set up in case Amora hasn't fled the surrounding area yet; Spiderman is just standing by idly and Steve is leaning against the helicopter.

“Alright.” All attention flies to Steve. Steve's rubbing the edge of his Shield that's slung across his back; he looks at each of them before speaking, tone completely serious and commanding. “Black Widow, Spiderman: I want you two to go and report to Fury; Thor, try and get any information from Asgard if you can; I’m taking Ironman to the medical wing and then we’re supposed to meet with S.H.I.E.L.D to get any more information. Understood?” Steve looks around for any comments but the team simply remains silent.

There’s a murmur of assent as Peter joins Natasha in the helicopter; Thor nods and gets ready to leave as Steve turns to Tony.

“I have to make sure you actually listen this time.” Steve sounds like he’s only half-joking. “C’mon, we should get going.”

“You and Jarvis both; I swear you’re consulting together against me.” Tony sighs and Steve lets out a light chuckle. He's trying hard to come up with possibilities to get out of resting to check the feeds but for now there's no loop-hole to snake his way through. Damn it all. “Alright, c’mon.” Tony outstretches his arms. “You’re gonna need a ride. Last I checked Captain America could beat up Nazis, not fly.”


	2. Borne of Cogent Psychosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“One, just one person to save them all.” Tony says to himself, eyes faraway and his hands messing around with the same metal instrument that’s on his work table at this exact moment. Steve sighs and drops to his knees, crumpling in a disheartened heap. The video continues and Tony looks up at the empty space before his arms, his voice laden with pain. “ Prepare yourself, Antony. Things are not always as they seem…”_

Steve, not for the first time, comes to the conclusion that there must be something wrong with him.

Tony’s draped across half of the couch in the living room, clad only in sweatpants and an old worn band t-shirt. His entire guise leaks nonchalance, a dispassionate timidity that somehow whispers “overlooked, unnoticed, disregarded” yet Tony is simply a man that demands to be seen, to be listened and respected; his presence demands attention.

Before he even realized that Tony Stark _was_ Iron Man, he would always puzzle on the elusive, and quite crude, sarcastic and eccentric CEO. Oftentimes he would be directed straight to the red-and-gold plated “bodyguard” when he started asking some of the questions on his mind to the bountiful S.H.I.E.L.D. agents about the Stark Corporation Chairman. Iron Man would simply stare at him with those glowing blue eyes, silent; Steve honestly thought that the machine didn’t have a voice modulator whatsoever.

“I’m… I hear he is quite like his father. At least, in appearance and madness.” Was the first thing Ironman had ever replied. Steve stayed still, a little shell-shocked, sure, but mostly thinking. On the short occasions he had spent with Tony Stark, for his bi-weekly _cultural debriefings_ , Howard Stark had never truly crossed his mind, at least not in matter of comparison.

Tony seemed to let off this arrogant front and in all brutal honesty he was just snarky, rude and flagrant in what it was he wanted; it was almost impossible to get any other words besides “egotistical” and “genius” (except from Fury, who seemed to have every word available to man synonymous to “narcissistic” and a broad study of psychology that he seamlessly attached to Stark without batting his eye) from anyone else.

He couldn’t stop the words before they had left him. After a two minute verbose tirade on the enigma that was Tony Stark to _Iron Man_ of all people, Steve was left a little flushed and embarrassed—well, more than usual. He had claimed that he would be the one to decide who Tony Stark was and said, in a stern voice, that “Tony kind of reminds me of Howard, but those similarities are the greatest difference between them; it’s like… the more they’re alike, the more they aren’t” and that was when he had stopped talking.

He spoke like he was enamored with the eccentric genius despite a handful of meetings and awkward greetings\confrontations. Things between himself and the enigmatic CEO had become stranger after that, knowing now that he had practically spilled his heart out to Tony while in disguise made the whole situation make sense but at the time it all just seemed incredibly connected yet not connected at all.

Back to Tony on the couch, then.

Steve shakes his head and clears the wave of fond nostalgia—a term not exactly associated with Steve Rogers and memories. Thinking back on the past, about Bucky and Peggy and Howard and the days that he had all but left behind hurt less this time around, the ever present ache in his chest that screamed that he didn’t belong, that _nothing was right_ was hampered by the stronger sense of acceptance found in each easy, slightly lopsided grin; in each awfully hidden chuckle; in each friendly jostle, each awkward embrace; each time their eyes met; each time they _fought_ each other and together.

There’s something inexplicably odd in the air this late morning, something out of place that doesn’t belong. Steve sighs as he clenches the edge of the sink, muscles pulled taut and tense across the broad expanse of his back. The cotton white shirt is stretched to the seams, the fabric stretched to its limits. Steve runs a still damp hand through his hair and tilts his head back, exasperated.

Tony wasn’t right. It was damn near visible by the darkness that clung under his eyes from an irregular lack of sleep (because he had lived with the Avengers for over two years now, lived under the same roof with Tony for a year and a half of those two years and knew that the best that could ever be claimed for Tony’s health was a healthy dose of insomnia, malnourishment and some anxiety). No, this kind of lack of sleep had nothing to do with the plans for the Quinjet half scribbled on napkins and loose sheets of paper, nor a new upgrade for the Iron Man suit—it was the kind of sleeplessness that’s found hand-in-hand with shuddering frights that come out with the darkness, the kind of insomnia… you’d prefer to _actual sleep._

The problem here was that the kind of insomnia that qualified such symptoms typically resulted from emotional unease and Tony was _volatile,_ absolutely and completely unnerved by the idea of _opening up_ that speaking in the open about what was bothering him would be close to impossible. The hands clenching the ledge tighten and a nearly mute groan emits from the appliance. Steve wills his hands to loosen their grip and he looks uneasily towards the living room vicinity.

That… that wasn’t the sink this time.

It takes only a second for Steve to be beside Tony’s writhing form, worry laced in each crevice of his being. He’s still a little damp from washing the dishes, a little wrung out from the earlier battle and the adrenaline is still pumping through his body when he finally starts to calm down. It seems that his original hypothesis is true; Tony whimpers and curls into himself for a split second before groaning painfully, eyes moving quickly under his tightly shut lids. It looks like he wants to scream or cry or shout but the body isn’t responding to the mind’s messages.

He’s most likely dreaming, trapped in his subconscious’ nightmares and Steve has known Tony long enough to understand the hellish visions that are probably plaguing the genius.

He also knows how useless and destructive waking Tony up can be so Steve grabs a hold of the clenched fist, runs a hand through Tony’s sweat-matted hair and sighs.

“Everything is okay, Tony. Everything is good. Please, wake up. Wake up…”

* * *

_“It’s beautiful isn’t it?”_

She sounds so soft, so warm, like a cool summer day, like a bed of flowers, a cloud. Otherworldly; ethereal. Her name is at the tip of his tongue. He cannot speak, though; Tony is trapped in this cocoon of warmth and darkness.

Beloved lady. Wife. To love.

But he can’t come up with her name.

She’s still speaking, he thinks; Tony can feel the words like sugar drops falling into a pool of water, smooth and gentle, dissolving just as soon as they reach him. Feather-light as he falls deeper, deeper, but there is a warm weight pressing on his hand, holding him above the surface of absolute darkness.

“My powers--” she starts and, further away, “some effects… I’m sorry.”

He accepts her strange apology in a wave of sensation. Something’s odd. She wants to show him something, he can feel it, like a slight tugging at the back of his mind.

“See what… you have to lose…”

But he doesn’t see a thing, only this thick void of darkness before it begins to fade away into a familiar picture; it’s the top floor of the mansion.

It’s them. Tony and Steve sitting on the hard hospital bed, Tony’s helmet on his lap and Steve’s hands are on his shoulder. Even in his mind, Tony can feel the dull ache of the chemical agent; no form of acid, for sure, and the burns are superficial. Must have been made to specifically go through his armor, then; the scald is just a product of the compound’s exothermic reaction with the armor.

Tony mumbles something under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like the ‘thank you’ he hadn’t meant to let slip, and –oh, there’s the snaky little hand that fell atop of Steve’s reassuring hold on his good shoulder. His head is bowed down, heavy with sleeplessness, the weight of the medication and the soothing alleviation from the balm is forcing his senses to surrender to the darkness. Surrender to the visions.

Only the scene doesn’t end there. Not when Tony’s body slumps forward, not when his eyes shut completely, not when Steve calls out his name to silence. It’s like he’s watching from the camera in the corner, an omniscient view of the going-ons without any more insight.

Steve looks weary. His hair if ruffled from the flight, his eyes are a little dull and glazed over as he spaces out and his hands move slowly to gently put down Tony’s limp body. The sigh he lets out is tired in a decidedly different way and the look he gives Tony is different than the furtive little glances he catches on the outskirts of his peripheral vision, different than the worried stares, annoyed eye-rolls and the braver looks Steve has ever given him.

Steve looks equally shattered and at peace. Like the words at the tip of his tongue are burning to be muttered but are impossible to articulate. His eyes slide close as his hands brush down from Tony’s shoulders to his collar bone, arc up to his neck and cradle the base of his skull. He’s moved in the process from sitting beside Tony to almost completely covering the unconscious man with his body and his head tips forward, the two resting forehead to forehead.

“ _Tony_ \---”

A memory springs from the growing darkness, followed by another, like a strobe light, in a constant flickering pattern of inverting darkness.

Steve laughing at Tony as he tries to rub the grease off his cheek with a dirty, oil-stained hand.

Tony and Steve laughing together on the third floor entertainment room while they try to catch him up on movies and culture.

Steve yelling at Tony for being stupid.

Tony talking to Steve after a battle. After a nightmare.

Smiles.

Glances.

Friendship.

Laughter.

Warmth.

“ _Do you see what you have to lose?_ ” the voice says softly, as if consoling a long forgotten ache, healing an old wound. “ _Antony Stark, there is so much—“_

No, no there’s something wrong. The once lulling sense of warmth and comfort is fading fast. He’s flinching at the biting cold that’s warping through his senses and the tinges of black sprouting at the edges of his vision. The images that flashed, bright and effervescent bleed a harsh pigmented and stagnant darkness.

_There’s an explosion. Fire in the air, firearms firing at innocent people, their smiles fresh in Tony’s memory, teasing and taunting but kind all the same; There’s a missile in front of him and he scrambles for purchase before closing his eyes._

_“I deserve to die” Tony thinks as he reads his name, his legacy on the side of his harbinger of death._

_An explosion. Fire. An explosion of pain; fire in his chest. His life, extinguished._

_“Yes, yes; finally. Sweet poetic justice--”_

_But no, it’s not the end. He turns heartless, flesh and bone turns to steel and fire._

_Always fire._

_He fights; redemption is at arm’s length, within reach but never in his grasp. He fights evil, fights himself, fights with his partners but knows, ultimately, that he’ll never win. At the end of the day he’s breathing, he’s living when so many good, deserving people die. He’ll rub his eyes and think “why”? The answer is never at the end of the formula. Somewhere along the way he may have messed up; wrong limits. The derivation of his life isn’t coming up; the integral is lost within the components of this intricate word problem and he’s probably written the fundamental theorems incorrectly._

_Because at the end of each battle, at the end of each seventy-two hour day he’s still alive and breathing. Either something is wrong with the world, Death doesn’t like following a group of superheroes or God has a sick sense of humor.  
\------------------------------------------------_

_He wakes up after being unconscious for a week. Those amateur villains are getting their grubby little paws on some seriously heavy mechanical gauntlets—most likely from Hammer, judging by the metal grade and the size of the explosion when the third guy tried shooting a pinpoint strike of plasma energy at Captain America’s turned back._

_He doesn’t realize that he’s in his room at Avenger’s tower until someone moves beside him. Steve’s there, head bowed as he scrutinizes the book he’s almost crushing with his hands._

_“What did Faust ever do to you? It was written a million years ago by some dude that’s beyond rotting now.”_

_“Tony!”_

_And he remembers again, how dark it had gotten. Blue eyes, wide with worry, lips that moved into syllables that were muted by painpainpain—_

* * *

 

_“Why?” It’s hard to speak through the pain; even harder to see through the haze of darkness that’s clouding his vision._

_“What?” Steve leans forward, blue eyes swimming in Tony’s vision._

_“Why would you save me?” Then—darkness at last._

* * *

_There are some many bottles on the tabletop it looks like it nears complete collapse. Half of them are empty._

_The doctors say he’s lucky someone found him and called 911. Lucky, they say. Like he should rejoice. Like he should be proud._

* * *

_“You don’t want to be saved.” It’s a statement. Steve doesn’t look at Tony. Tony sighs, reads the words of the book upside down._

> _ “Methinks, by most, 'twill be confess'd _
> 
> _ That Death is never quite a welcome guest.” _

_“I don’t deserve to be saved.”_

* * *

When Tony opens his eyes he feels like he’s seeing through a cloud of haze; someone else’s’ heavily prescribed lenses that cover his visage. There are fields of cotton in his mind just filling up the spaces and when he turns his head he can’t feel it; doesn’t feel the muscles pull and stretch, doesn’t feel the bones moving when he starts to sit up.

He’s riding shotgun to someone running his body. It kind of reminds him of the whole Loki incident, the way Clint explained seeing everything and not being able to move. Each hit and each swing was painful and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t do a damn thing.

Tony struggled against his invisible restraints, felt a swell of anxiety and feebleness settle in the core of his being and continued to fight each movement. He watches as he sits up fully, his hand moving forward in slow jerks and finally extends fully. That’s when a strong, warm hand grips his wrist and a impossibly relieved Captain comes into his view.

“Tony! You’re awa--” And Tony can’t help but feel a wave of relief when Steve’s face drops into something more akin to confused, then panic and finally closes off completely. “Who are you? What did you do to Tony!” Steve commands, his grasp tightening on Tony’s wrist.

“Alive.” Tony hears a guttural stranger whisper and comes to the conclusion that it must have been himself. “I am… alive.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Steve growls and he grabs the other limp wrist to push the not-Tony further into the cushions. “Now I’m going to ask you a question and you’re damn well going to answer me honestly or I’ll get Agent Widow and she knows a thousand ways to knock a man out and more ways to make it painful, understand?” Apparently receiving his answer Steve barreled on. “Good. What did you do to Tony?”

“S-Side… effect. Not meant to happen. Something else… is here. Something dark. Something ancient” Steve releases a breath and continues, passive-features a perfect mask of flaccid aggression.

“You said this is a side effect-- side effect of what?”

“Do you dream at night?”

“Stop avoiding--”

“I dream of smoke and fire; death and decay. I see the destruction of the world and the malice in the eyes of those that cause it.”

“That doesn’t--” Steve tries but his face is scrunching up as he loses the lucidity of the response. “Why are you doing this?”

“Sacrifices must be made. I am simply warning Anthony of these upcoming plights. I-I can’t--” Tony sees a wave of darkness rush through his vision and his body slumps forward. He can feel his body better than before, a tingling coursing through his veins, his muscles and sinking deep into his bones as Steve pulls his head up, speaking in a silent tongue.

“Tony? Tony hey listen up—you remember…?”

“Losing control… last… warning.” Tony mumbles.

“Hey look at me—it’s Steve. You know me, Tony. Do you remember me?” Steve tries to make Tony focus but feels his friend relapsing into unconsciousness. “Tony! Do you know who I am?” Steve repeats, one hand holding Tony’s chin up, the other flat and scorching against the mechanic’s cheek.

“Salvation.” Tony breaths and that far off look is back into his hazy teal eyes—eyes that don’t shine with humor, the lack of honey chocolate making them further from human. Those eyes near and Steve can’t react when Tony’s lips are against his own, soft and slightly dry and pressing closer, slotting neatly against his own with a tilt of his head.

By the time Steve finds the attention to come back to the predicament Tony sighs and closes his eyes, the sight of them turning back into their natural color from the strange concoction of sapphire and emerald from before is comforting and frightening all in one. Tony’s body slumps forward and Steve remains still, shell-shocked and confused.

“Jarvis!” Steve shouts to the side, turning his head to avoid yelling in Tony’s ear. “I need you to call someone from the medical bay and Hank McCoy, uh, and can you _please_ help me figure out what the hell just happened?”

* * *

Jarvis, in fact, was created with the only specified instructions to help Tony. There wasn’t much else written into the program that would tell of its specific utilitarian purpose. The programming would state, in layman terms: “This A.I is hereby given free evolutionary reign so long as it fulfills its purpose and can branch out, be snarky and, hell, get its own set of characteristics, like a personality—this program is limitless only to its official objective”.

See, Steve didn’t know that. In fact, only three people know of the AI’s initial programming and that’s limited to the other scientists that Tony trusts with his life: Peter, Bruce and Reed. Don’t get Tony wrong—he trusts Hank McCoy with his life, it’s just that the mutant prefers to be visited and never makes house calls. Hence Steve’s surprise when, after tucking Tony into an empty medical room in the top floor of the building, the aforementioned scientist lumbered through the doorway with a book bag slung across his shoulder.

“Hello there, Steven. What ever was the cause of such distress?” Hank ponders with a heavy shrug, pulling the slipping bag up over his shoulder.

“Well, there’s something up with Tony and he’s, well it’s not—Tony…”

“I believe that I may be of assistance in this manner.” Jarvis pipes up and wow, if Steve didn’t know any better than he’d think that Jarvis was _laughing_ and isn’t that just something out of a Ray Bradbury book? What. Steve reads on their off time, when the other Avengers aren’t going about being lousy scoundrels. “Master Tony has been having worse bouts of insomnia, spanning from five to six days per week for the past month. His eating habits have changed as well and he is currently consuming a total of two-thousand two hundred calories per day, which is odd for Master Tony. He sleep walks and suffers bouts of black outs that have lasted between two minutes to three hours. At these times he begins to speak to himself and create strange objects, always the same object.”

“Well, that is mighty odd…” Hank rubbed a furry claw over his blue chin and his upper lip curled up in a pensive snarl. “I will endeavor to take a gander into his physiological symptoms, if anything shows up I will send you word but I think perhaps a telepath would be better help in this situation.” Hank grinned, white teeth sharp in contrast to his form. “Still, the Professor went missing a few days back, a mishap in the danger room with one of the time-space shifting mutants and Frost is on loan to the British Government so it’s fine.”

“Thank you” Steve breathed out, trying his hardest not to smile. Hank gave him a little nod and a look, the same look Pepper would give him whenever he tried to make Tony remember that he was human and that billionaire-playboy-philanthropist-body of his had basic needs. It made Steve want to squirm but his soldier instincts battled the impulse down and he turned away, a sigh heavy on his lips.

“In the meantime,” Jarvis piped up and Steve would deny that he jumped, “I have some video feeds from last night and some information that Master Tony had requested me to have formed and separated—they are ready. Would you like to view them?”

Steve always had a problem with feeling helpless. Before the serum he just tried to help—so many fights in so many places, busted lips and broken bones; he had only wanted to help. With the serum it was possible, he could actually help it. Right now, with Tony and his strange episodes—he felt like the Brooklyn boy that was behind the diner, pummeled and bleeding.

But this? He could do this.

“Lead the way.” Steve huffs, making his way to the elevator while Jarvis takes him down to Tony’s lab.

* * *

The image was spayed out on the open, two separate screens. The first one was time-stamped on the bottom left corner. The image played on like a silent film, certain features and slices highlighted to pinpoint certain facts and details.  The pixels made the scene shades of blue and white, like the vibrant glow of Tony’s arc reactor.

The second image, the one playing in a ten second loop, was in a smaller window than the other and the images flickered as the feed restarted.

_“Tony! Do you know who I am?”_

_“Salvation.”_

_Lips, warm and soft. Chapped slightly as they slip into his own, locking into a perfect match._

It’s slightly surreal seeing them two in a different light, even if that point of view is just the corner camera.

The next video—that’s what’s getting Steve’s muscles tense, his jaw clenching.

“What are you doing in here and--” Tony stumbles slightly, still dazed and slightly confused but his features sober up as he looks up from his awkward half-leaning half-stumbled pose against his workshop table. “—What are you watching.” He looks pale, out of it of sorts.

“Tony,” Steve motions at the second screen, the one still moving,” What the hell is going on? What _are you doing right now?_ ” He looks mighty pissed but Tony’s a little distracted by the second video.

 _‘I thought that was a dream’_ he thinks numbly until he spots the hologram Steve is motioning towards.

“What. Is. This.” Steve repeats and he looks like he’s going to explode before he manages to turn around.

“I swear it’s not--” Tony starts and Steve’s incredulous huff throws him off. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “Is that what you want to hear? I don’t know. Hank doesn’t know—he says that the only change in my physical reactions is a little disorientation. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me.” Tony’s teeth are gritting and he straightens up, fists clenched and shaking at his sides.

“I don’t—there’s his voice that’s talking to me, some woman and she- she shows me these things and, god, they’re disgusting, they’re absolutely horrible and I can’t tell if it’s real or a nightmare or what the hell is going on but I can’t do it. There’s a savior that’s supposed to arise from all of this and I don’t know what the hell I am doing.” Tony snorts but the sound is shallow. “So there. You heard it from the horse’s mouth and all.” Tony grins and Steve turns, his eyes so full of emotion. It’s his paparazzi smile, Steve thinks, and well if that isn’t fucked up.

“Hope you’re happy, if you don’t mind I think I’m going to and drink away the next hour. Sure as hell beats all of--” Tony ducks his head and motions towards the video streams. “It beats all of this.” He takes a deep breath, runs his had through his sweaty hair and turns, leaving before Steve has the chance to say anything.

And, well, he doesn’t want to hear it anyway.

Besides, he figured Steve was the champion anyway.

Steve simply stood there, the need to chase after Tony beaten by the need to know just what was going on. He closes his eyes, turns towards the screens and takes a deep breath.

“Jarvis, unmute, please.” Steve chokes out, eyes still shut.

“Yes, Master Steven.” The AI pipes up and the room fills with Tony’s murmuring. Steve’s heart clenches at the low, familiar whispers.

_“One, just one person to save them all.” Tony says to himself, eyes faraway and his hands messing around with the same metal instrument that’s on his work table at this exact moment. Steve sighs and drops to his knees, crumpling in a disheartened heap. The video continues and Tony looks up at the empty space before his arms, his voice laden with pain. “ Prepare yourself, Antony. Things are not always as they seem…”_


	3. Rangarok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly he blinks and Tony isn't in the lab anymore. There are golden apples and a frail looking blonde woman holding her arms out like branches, the green sheer fabric draped over her arms moves and rustles like the leaves; she's naked besides the transparent cloth but Tony can't pull his gaze away from her inhuman violet-sapphire eyes.
> 
> ...She hands him a golden apple. Silence spreads as the blue skies begin to bleed across the graying fields.

It’s maybe a day, maybe two hours; Tony can never keep track of time when he’s avoiding people, when he’s busy working on being an awesome genius that is totally not in love with his pseudo-leader-slash-best friend. So yes, a good amount of time must have gone by and it certainly wasn’t a few hours. Judging by the amount of people that have tried to come down and the three overrides he’s had to bark out before someone walked into his lab when he clearly doesn’t want any company, well, it’s pretty safe to say that Steve is still trying to get him to talk and has gained allies in his oh-so- _noble_ cause.

In all frank honesty, because he is _Tony Stark_ and he has no need to lie to himself or anyone else for that matter, Tony might have sulked in his room for the hour that Steve remained in his lab. Maybe. Just a little. Besides, there’s no proof (because he got JARVIS to erase the video feed) and for all he cares no one even bothered to try to find out what was going on.

But the worse thing to do to Tony when he’s in what Pepper would call _moods_ is leave him alone.  See, there’s something that gets at him when villains have him kidnapped.  There’s another when he’s alone with his greatest and most vile foe, the one that knows all of his secrets, his regrets, all of the guilt that gnaws at the final remnants of his sanity.

They left him alone with his thoughts.

Nothing good could come of that.

Tony is smart. This fact is universally known and splashed out on every newspaper at least once a month. The _savior_ he hears so much of is easy to deduce, then. Someone that is strong, check. Honorable? Check.  Resilient? Check. Self-sacrificing? Double check.

A hero that’s going to get caught in the crosshairs of time and space? Well, color Tony informed, but the person he has in mind has technically already fallen into that category.

And to know, to be told that _Steve_ is going to die to save the world isn’t the bitterest pill Tony has to swallow. It’s the idea that he would do it, _god_ , that idiot would lay himself down on the line and take whatever the world throws at him and give just as good back because he’s _Steve-fucking-Rogers_ and he lived through so much worse.

So he’s not hiding or trying to do anything of the sort; Tony is simply _dealing_ and if anyone knows him then they’d stop trying but—

“Manual override: oh-seven-oh-four-one-nine-two-two!” Tony barks out and the double-doors (security measures, it’s only a lab full of _everything_ ) reseal.

—Tony could be doing so much worse right now but he’s not. It’s really late into the evening, 7:47 P.M if he is to believe the time Jarvis has on display for him. He’s still going over his surprisingly articulate notes and diagnosing two weeks worth of lucid mad-rambling. It’s entertaining, sometimes, when he catches himself doing something fully-cogent Tony would do while being fully asleep (Jarvis has been processing brainwaves since week one, apparently) and the introduction or REM sleep while still being conscious is some seriously scary shit.

It would be smart to call Xavier or Frost, ask them for their prognosis but Charles is stuck somewhere back in time with Magneto and Frost is over at Russia doing her whole scary blonde lady that can melt your brain with a sneeze-routine.

He has four windows open around his work table. The first video is silent, the feeds Jarvis has prepared and (the traitor!) showed Cap; the second is information on this “Amora” character, Enchantress, and whatever the hell she is; the third is Hank McCoy’s entire prognosis and the fourth, well, Tony didn’t really close the videos Steve was watching so let’s just say the fourth is Non-Tony doing what Inner-Tony wants to do to a clearly flipped out Steve. Only with less magical body-thief mojo and more “Brazzers” rating.

So far, in his search for the madwoman and the power to end the world, he has found brief mentions of the _Ragnarok_ and golden apples. He ponders this for a moment, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, eyes tightly shut with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly he blinks and Tony isn't in the lab anymore. There are golden apples and a frail looking blonde woman holding her arms out like branches, the green sheer fabric draped over her arms moves and rustles like leaves; she's naked besides the transparent cloth but Tony can't pull his gaze away from her inhuman violet-sapphire eyes.

"Oh, dear. Mother leader of Æsir will not be happy nor pleased.” The young maiden’s pink lips purse into something akin to a frown, her glowing, light skin dulls momentarily. “Her powers are fading, the words are seized; a darkness grows upon your realm; the anger that grows will overwhelm. Whose name do you pray with each breath? Who will miss you most in death?" Those eyes shift slightly into a pure, wretched blue that steals Tony’s breath.

The woman moves, her left arm moving while her right shifts slightly back. She hands him a single golden apple that Tony takes without protest and without thought. Silence spreads as the blue skies begin to bleed a crimson streak and the fields all start to gray. The meadows of purple and green amaranth begin to wither away.

 “The two crows are lost; the battle is won but at what cost? An eagle and a hawk, memories of the past.  If death is not certain then how long will it last?” The woman tilts her head and Tony can’t look at her, this ethereal being at the center of this strange illusion. The sky oozes crimson, dripping into the dead fields. The once pleasant wind stills and there is nothing but the soft, out of place sound of the woman’s voice and the bright shine of the apple in Tony’s hand.

“A mother soothes her child; a brother foes wild. Who can save the world but the one that destroys it?” She smiles gently now, eyes glowing violet. “The hero is not one who fights, but one who doesn’t submit.”

Tony falters. He looks at the apple, at the smooth texture of gold wrapped around this forbidden fruit; knowledge lays on his palm, innocuous and innocent. He can’t, he thinks, this is impossible, and when he opens his eyes he will run off to the street and take a long walk because _this is impossible_ but the pieces are all fitting together in his mind and it makes sense. It’s cogent psychosis, this is lucid madness but it _makes sense_.

“Who are you?” Tony wills himself to ask because he must know. He has to.

“The wind and the trees call me their own;  I am the apples, and the tree. I am youth, rejuvenation, beauty. Iðunn, they whisper, Idonae they say.” The woman smiles and she’s just so out of place in this warped reality.

“Idonae,” Tony whispers, feels it on his lips and tongue like something sweet, like fragrant apples. The maiden smiles and raises her arms back into their original position; she freezes, pale skin shifting into a gray-white flow that starts at her chest and spreads through her body like an infection. Her eyes are kind, though, filled with something akin to yearning and a touch of familiarity as they turn blue then harden with the same substance flirting with marble but smoother, milkier.

For a moment, it’s all Tony can do to stand there without panicking but the tranquility remains within him despite the morose words and the nightmarish surroundings. The apple winks up at him and he stares at it in return, unsure but still unafraid.

It’s soft, despite the outer shelling and smells fragrant; it smells like spring and youth and hope. It’s stark against the darkness and Tony closes his eyes, breathes it in and closes his eyes.

Tony is gone before the apple falls, before making his decision. What decision?—he doesn’t know.

For some inexplicable reason, Tony wakes up from the hallucination in the exact position he was before he spaced out. It’s sure as hell a move up from spontaneous collapsing, though so who is he to complain? Not a lot of time has passed, either; the time of the videos still playing is only about five to six minutes ahead of where he had left off.

Things, they make sense now. Somehow, Tony knows exactly what’s going to happen, like dominoes lined up and ready to topple; he needs a few more days to tick off the first one and

With a splitting headache and a long suffering sigh, Tony reverses the video feeds and opens a new window. He has some names to look up and some myths to relearn.

* * *

_“This is a FOX news special report: reports of strange happenings in central states are skyrocketing, puzzling scientists all over the world. What is happening to nature? Crops and forests seem to be drying out and dying; livestock, wildlife and even household pets are disappearing or dropping like flies. The world is baffled by these strange, almost apocalyptic events—are these omens of ‘the end’ or a side-effect of the increasingly widespread theory of Global warming?”_

“ _Reporting Live from CNN headquarters: strange floods in rural towns and in the country side sweep the nation into high alert; how does the weather turn sour in less than 24 hours? Special guest scientists ponder the possible causes for these freak storms and the property damage that will rise as the flooding continues._ ”

“ _Breaking News: a 7.3 earthquake shakes southern California, reports of fault lines are coming in and buildings have collapsed; authorities and firemen are making sweeps throughout he worse impacted streets to find those that have been injured; aftershocks are coming in bursts and fast, the latest still being a 6.1 and a 5.8. Repeat, a 7.3 earthquake has shaken southern California, reports of fault lines--_ ”

At exactly 8:21P.M, all hell breaks loose.

* * *

Tony can’t say he’s surprised. It takes a lot of damage to start the Ragnarok. He just hopes he can get everything in place before the deaths start, too. Stark tower is surprisingly quiet, now; Tony thinks that the crew probably all left for the S.H.I.E.L.D debriefing he was supposed to go to but there are bigger fish to fry.

Jarvis is going through as many video feeds as metaphysically possible, looking for hide or hair of Enchantress. Hopefully Amora will pop up before the end of the night or, if nothing, Tony manages to finish his project.

Apparently knowing what to do and actually getting it done are two completely different, sentient and horribly difficult things. Who would have guessed?

It’s beside the point. There are certain steps that must be taken now, certain thing that Tony has to do before his time is up, hopefully before everyone’s time is up. For starters, finding Amora would be priority. Keeping Loki and Thor safe would be second, finding a way to contain the catastrophic energy of the Tesseract, the same power that had destroyed part of Asgard and created weapons of mass deterioration.

So, you know, no biggie. Only Tony had no idea what the hell the thing actually did other than contain a vast wealth of limitless energy. So far, it seemed as if Asgardian materials worked well when it came to holding the cube but, according to Steve, the Tesseract had eroded the steel of the aircraft. So, something resilient and otherworldly?

Tony would hold his breath.

Still, if he were to get Thor to go to Asgard and get him some of the metals they had there, maybe this wouldn’t be such a lost cause? Actually, that would be perfect; Tony minimizes all of the open drafts he has lingering about in the air and slumps against his work table, legs open before the bench.

If he can manage to get Thor to Asgard while he finds and pin-points Enchantress’ location he can be sure of Thor’s safety and get what he needs. It’s a win-win.

Fantastic. People don’t just throw around “genius” for no reason, anyway; Tony’s good at thinking up plans. If he needs Thor to return for more than the God will be none the wiser—he wouldn’t see through Tony’s ruse.

It’s 9P.M when Jarvis announces that the Avengers have returned. Tony’s in the living room with the TV on mute, an older episode of _The Twilight Zone_ playing across in monochromatic suspense. Of course Peter is the first to enter, yawning and stretching his way into the kitchen.

“Is that the--”

“It’s ‘Time Enough At Last’,” Tony shouts out, eyes not once leaving the bright screen on his lap.

“Ooh then they haven’t played the ‘Private World of Darkness’ episode yet, then.” Peter jumps onto the beck rest of the couch in his typical arachnid squat, a little rigid in his blue jeans and black t-shirt but comfortable nonetheless. “This pleases me. Also, you weren’t at debriefing. Fury got, er, _furious_ with Cap.” Peter sighs and falls forward, mushing his face, and ensuing complaints, into the cushion.

“Uhm, what?” Tony finally says after a few seconds of deliberation. Peter only opens his un-squished eye to give Tony what is, admittedly, the best one-eyed unamused look possible while face-planting a cushion. “No don’t give me that look I’ve had a hard day and I was actually busy doing _amazing human being_ things so don’t give me your disapproving face, Peter or I will officially make all of the walls and appliances slick and smooth so you can’t power your way and you’ll have to be an Average Joe or eat shit everytime you try to climb a wall, I swear to god.”

“What the heck are you guys _watching?_ ” Steve asks when he enters because it’s black and white and there’s a man crying with books surrounding him. Peter murmurs something that should be a title and Steve, as it turns out, is too tired for this too so he nudges the younger Avenger and plops down between Tony and Peter with a huff.

“It’s _Twilight Zone_ ,” Peter mumbles when he finally flips on his back, head dangling off the end of the couch, feet on the backrest.

Steve shrugs and leans further back, fatigue and sleepiness weighing him down. Tony’s back to his tablet but his attention’s already divided so he kicks his feet up on the coffee table, leans back and settles for this; the warmth of Captain America on his side, Peter trying to stick onto the couch comfortably, ‘Tasha’s sudden appearance on the one-seater, Thor banging around in the kitchen and Jarvis’ soft voice announcing the arrival of the rest of the team.

There might not be much in the world that’s good but this? Watching old TV with assassins, mutants, a God and a field agent that is still technically dead? Tony looks about the room, settles on Thor and Clint debating the accuracy of hammer throwing versus hammer smashing, Natasha rising to give Pepper her seat (female chivalry?), Peter sleeping like a bonafide contortionist, Steve more asleep and leaning into Tony’s side heavily.

This dysfunctional hero-family is worth fighting for—worth _dying_ for.

* * *

“Are you really seeing the tapestry? The fabric of events, the motion of reality?” Idonae whispers, as if trying to not destroy the meadow’s tranquility. Her hair is flowing in the warm wind, golden curls sparkling in the sunlight. She is seated in the emerald pastures, surrounded by bloody red apples, jade green apples and a single golden apple that rests on her lap. The previous shawl she had wrapped around her bare form is gone and she sits in her nude beauty, flashing violet-navy eyes shining with mirth. The lavender ruffs of the amaranths rub against her creamy skin, like kittens trying to garner attention.

“I think I understand now,” Tony nods slowly.

“This is great in one respect, and saddening in another; to leave a love behind and still unite two lovers.” Idonae looks genuinely saddened at this and casts her eyes down to her apples. Tony smiles bitterly and sits cross-legged and clad in the gauntlets ad boots of his armor; his worn-out jeans rustle when he sits and his Black Sabbath tee scrunches a bit.

“You weren’t the first to contact me.” Tony states and Idonae flushes slightly, eyes trained on the golden apple between her thighs.

“I was not the first but surely the last; took up the mission when I was asked. Mother Æsir had failed in her endeavor, left her health waning and worse than ever.” Idonae sighs, sullen. “It is a great task she has bequeathed to you; her spell had been foiled and couldn’t be started anew. I took the liberty of bringing you here.” Idonae looks up and her eyes are the same intense blue from before, the color so familiar and so comforting at once, though Tony can’t put a name to them.

“If it’s the one that you want then endear; it’s the final pleasure before the end that final level you must ascend. Valhalla nears with each breath; a final treat before death.”

This time, When Idonae hands Tony the golden fruit, he raises it to his lips and bites, the indentation of teeth giving way to the exposed cream-white interior of the fruit.  A question plays on his lips, a silent inquiry his companion answers with a smile and a tear.

“With each death there is a beginning and end; the powerful cube does portend. The symbols of conclusion and start will reveal the answers that we did conceal.”

“So, pretty much, I’ll get my answers when this is all done and over with, huh?” Tony looks at the bitten apple, demanding answers with a sharp glare. The maiden’s tittering laughter flows with the whispering promise of the wind. The lands all fade off into obscurity. Tony feels like he’s falling and then—

Nothing.

“I dun’ wanna get up it’s too early for this shit,” Tony grumbles and whines but it’s no use; someone’s holding him in a fireman hold and it’s still too damn comfortable to be considered carrying or Tony’s finally hit his hibernation mode that’s been long overdue.

But he can’t sleep. There are _things_ to do. _Important_ things. Things with Thor. And Steve. And apples and dominoes and metal. Things with fire and pain and, well, none of that matters right now, not at the moment, because he’s comfortable and there is nothing more important than this moment, somewhere between life and death and the fight and defeat.

When the person that’s holding Tony put him down and run their fingers through Tony’s hair, well, it’d be a lie to say it’s what sends Tony back to sleep. Technically he wasn’t fully awake in the first place.

The morning comes in with slow observations and sensory information; there are no lights in the room other than the ever present dull, white-blue shine of the arc reactor. Just below eye level, a furnace wrapped tightly across his back and a distinct lack of blankets that leaves him just this side of chilly.

Wait.

What?

“Jar-Jarvis, what time is it?” Tony mumbles, pressing back into the comfortable heat and turning to face the open space beyond his bed, eyes still shut.

“It is eleven A.M, sir. Would you like me to start on breakfast? The rest of the house-mates are up and awake at the moment.”

“Any word on Enchantress yet?” Tony groaned as the necessity to fully rouse from the sinful comfort of the bed increased.

“Not yet, sir. We have had some accidental sightings but she seems to be moving rather quickly and in no recognized pattern as of yet. Master Stevens, as you have lain awake for several minutes, would you like me to get your coffee in progress as well?”

Tony won’t say that he jumped out of bed _or_ fell, a-thank-you. He can say that he might have sort of maybe fallen _with style_ and not a yelp or awkwardly flail his limbs during the fall. No one would think anything of it, anyway, with being a notorious non-morning person and more of a creature of insomnia.

“Uh, no that will… no thank you, Jarvis,” Steve stammers and Tony would find the energy to chortle at that if he hadn’t just been, you know, sort of rubbing himself all up on the guy like a lazy cat in the sun. Mortification will come later, though, because Tony knows himself and if there is something more important to him than feeling embarrassed it’s his curiosity.

“What, what the hell are you doing in my bed?” Tony stammers and, hell, he’s classier than this. It must be a morning thing, if anything at all. Steve is all rumpled nervousness and blushing cheeks and bright blue eyes like woah-and-damn because he’s a damn boy-scout and Tony is sprawled across the soft beige carpet like a cheap porno bottom, legs spread open, shirt hiked up and sweatpants (oh my god he wasn’t wearing these last night what even is Steve, honestly) too low on his hips.

“You, uh,” Steve rubs the back of his neck and Tony, god, he’s just a sappy fool behind the mask, just another idiot with a thing for men in uniform because he feels a touch of heat spread through his body at the awkwardness because it’s Steve and the damn Capsicle is sexy when he’s doing anything and everything (because Tony might be a kinky man but his biggest fetish can only be labeled as “Steve” and fuck he’s so far down the rabbit hole that it’s no use denying anything). “You fell asleep on the couch and everyone just sort of vacated so I brought you to your room”

“And changed me?” Tony grins and Steve just huffs a breath and crosses his arms across his bare chest (oh, hello there) and tries to look indignant about this while failing miserably.

“I just, you looked uncomfortable,” Steve mumbles, looking ever-so-awkward as he scrunches his features to look at Tony.

“Okay, you know what this deserves a talk, a nice long talk but I can’t do this from here and maybe a few coffees would help and my mind isn’t too far into the gutter because I kind of just want to crawl into bed or let you crawl over me and do unspeakable, maybe illegal things but I can’t function properly when it’s so early so can you give me a hand because I may have possibly broken my spine” Tony grumbles and Steve’s face would be priceless, really, if Tony had more brain cells to spare right now.

Steve huffs and shakes his head with a fond little glint in his eyes, disbelieving. “You’re not funny, Tony.” Steve gives a little quirk of his lips and Tony feels that little spark look to ignite. “Well, what if I’m not adverse to either?” Steve’s grin is nothing but filthy and Tony kind of wants to rub himself against it. Preferably naked.

Sometimes it’s easier to think of Steve as this; as this pseudo-modern, old-school young man with scruples when allowing a dame to enter a building first but no qualms when listening to Jan rant about the pros and cons of using a strap on versus a vibrator.

He’s too early for this shit. His tailbone is throbbing and his back is stiff and there’s this nagging at the back of Tony’s skull, like a warning or something he’s forgotten but he can’t be expected to think at all when Steve is flirting with him in his bed, half naked.

Welp.

Tony tries to say something, anything, but the only words that slip past his defenses are intelligible, quite possibly keyboard-smash jargon.

_There are words you can say, to hold this moment close to your heart. You know already. The time is near, it is neigh. The end is near, and each second that ticks on is another regret, another life. I ask not if you can live with yourself. I ask that you give in. I as that you—_

“—y?”

_I ask that you allow yourself, and your love, this moment of happiness. Give him your all and purify your body, your mind, your heart. The universe would not be able to keep you apart for long._

“Tony?” Steve repeats and Tony blinks out of his daze to find Steve a lot closer. He can’t look away from the worried blue eyes and Tony decides that there’s only now. There’s only this moment and if he can forget the half whispered voice in his head and the threat of a woman’s wrath on the world then it’s here with Steve.

Closing his eyes, Tony pitches himself forward and feels his lips press harshly against Steve’s unresponsive, slightly parted lips. He fixes the kiss, moves back a scant half inch and relieves the pressure to a soft brush, a gentle kiss that says more than Tony could ever say in a lifetime.

 God, he can feel his own heart breaking. He can feel everything just slamming into him, months of denial and friendship so intertwined it was hard to try, too risky but Steve isn’t running away or punching him in the face so things are going good so far.

“Tony,” Steve chokes out and he’s still on his knees, just above Tony’s shins, arms bracing Tony’s biceps in his previous effort to lift the scientist. “Tony, we can’t do this. Don’t do this to me,” He whispers and Tony closes his eyes, lets out a shuddery breath. Steve moves, shifts to back away but Tony is right there with him, filling the space Steve leaves behind with a sort of urgency that tightens his throat.

“Then don’t leave me,” Tony whispers, and they’re not kissing, they’re not even touching more than to hold and to pull, to push and to leave but there’s a charge in the air. The silence is smoldering now and Tony wants to open his eyes, wants to say something else but the air is being stolen from his lungs by Steve’s warm breath across his lips.

“Tony, we, I just--”

And there it is, isn’t it?

Rejection is a bitch.

“You can’t just… offer me this, you, and expect me to just take and not think, think there’s something else, Tony.” Steve’s hand is moving from the tight grip to slide up Tony’s neck to cup his jaw, a warm and heavy weight against Tony’s check. The tips of his war-roughened fingers brush the corner of Tony’s lip and Tony opens his eyes to stare into Steve’s open and honest gaze.

“I’m not offering you a quick morning fuck.” Tony takes a deep breath and swallows the need to laugh this off, pretend it was all part of a game but he’s gone too far to want to come back. He needs this. He wants it.

He wants Steve.

“This is me offering you the last part of myself that doesn’t belong to you already.”

And that is more than enough for Steve as he lets out this punched out, almost wounded whine and smashes their lips together, sends them both tumbling back onto the carpet.

Somewhere in his mind he can hear the voice come back, whisper into the air her ancient wisdom and the prophetic words that have haunted him.

They fade away into oblivion. All that exists in this moment, for right now is Steve’s warmth, the hot, slick kisses and the explosive pleasure crackling up their spines, exploding as fireworks in their mind.

And a single word:

_Finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rargh. Smut at the start of next chapter so GIRD YOUR LOINS. (AKA: just be prepared for that xD)


	4. Ozone and Amaranth (There's a Flash, Blink and You'll Miss It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like a series of stills, with the words all out of place: darkness, Thor, Steve, Enchantress, Loki, blood, darkness, light, golden apples, golden hair, Steve, darkness; "Hlín protects you, the Valkyrie will guide you" they say and Tony wants to laugh because he was wrong, so wrong, he was wrong all along. He hears mad laughter and feels a hand run through his hair, whisper soothing words into the silence.
> 
> What does it matter if he was wrong, if it would always end with this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I make A LOT of Norse Mythology references. Like, a shit-ton. I think I'll put a key on the epilogue's end note? (if needed) (BTW: I am never Beta'd so a thousand and one apologies for any and all mistakes!)

It’s dark in the room, smoldering, but Tony won’t tell Jarvis to turn up the lights, to allow Steve the pleasure of both _seeing_ and _feeling_. God, it shouldn’t be enough, isn’t enough, but with Tony’s pants and breathy moans in his ear, the slick heat encapsulating him, Steve is already on the brink.

It’s just _Tony_ , who’s always there with his sarcasm and dry wit, the person that made Steve want to embrace the 21st century; the man that gave him a home when home was 70 years in the past; the man that infuriated him, challenged him. Tony was the man that was too familiar, a slice of the past dipped in gold and cherry-red; Tony was the past mixed with the present, like a strange mixture of Howard’s brains, Peggy’s resilience and bravery, Bucky’s self-sacrificing, martyr ways and just—

He was Tony. Beneath his armor he’s a billionaire, playboy philanthropist and beneath that he’s hard wires, long nights, gallons of coffee, secret whispers to DUM-E, loud music, greasy band shirts and his own strange brand of compassion-sympathy and humanity hidden beneath the nuts and bolts, hidden behind the white-blue glow of the arc reactor.

Steve is always left breathless with the reality that he was chosen, he is lucky enough to be let in, to see the malleable, fragile parts of Tony hidden behind snark and left handed remarks.

God, it always leaves him breathless.

“Tony,” Steve pants, feels Tony’s ass press down against him, the throbbing heat tense and relax. “Tony, turn on the lights, bring ‘em back on.”

Tony has no words. Actually, he does but he doesn’t allow himself say them, doesn’t let the words slip past his bitten lips.

He can let himself have this, this moment, but he knows what will come next. As soon as they find Enchantress he knows what will happen. So he can have this, can give Steve this but can’t give in to the pulsing _joy_ that’s tearing at his chest worse than the shrapnel.

 _I love you!_ He shouts out with his body, with each drag up— _god_ —and plunge back down, slow, so slowly, like his body wants to taste Steve, the girth and feel of him, and never let go. Steve groans long and loud, like he can’t even control himself anymore, but his hands tighten on Tony’s thighs where he left them before Tony commanded Jarvis to shut off the lights.

There’s the glow of the arc reactor, though, giving them a dim glow, painting Steve in an almost ethereal light. Tony shudders and digs his nails into Steve’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“God, _Tony_ , want to see you”

 _No_ , Tony wants to shout out. _I’m afraid of what you’ll see. How far I’ve fallen, have been; how I belong to you, all of me and, fuck, just can’t, no no no…._

“S-Steve--” Tony gasps and his back arches, the fire in his body growing hotter. He knows he won’t last, can’t, isn’t fighting it for a second but Steve is pressing his fingers against Tony’s hips, forcing him down and Tony feels his whole body shuddering with the strength in the hands denying him is pleasure.

“Jarvis--”

_No!_

“Lights, please?” Steve asks and, shit, he’s so breathless Tony wants to laugh, wants an award or something but then the lights are coming on.

Steve looks fucking _debauched_ , bites and still-forming hickeys littering his neck, scratch marks against his shoulders and biceps. Tony groans and feels himself twitch, licks his lips at the canvas of flesh before him.

Steve’s silent, though, watching with this enraptured look of… something else, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on but his brain is drawing a blank. Tony bets he doesn’t look any better than Steve, though, and feels the bruises on his neck and chest throb as the electrified blue eyes scan his now exposed body. The gaze is almost like a physical touch, like another tongue licking down his body, down the expanse of his chest where the reactor ends and the puckered scars tapper off into Tony’s chest, abdomen, the bobbing erection that dribbles a little more pre-cum at the attention.

But, then those eyes are climbing back up Tony’s body, to his face and Tony remembers why he asked for darkness.

“Tony,” Steve breathes, hand releasing its hold to brush the man’s cheek, the damp trails he feels there and the final tear that lingers just on Tony’s cheekbone. “Why--?”

Tony steals the words with a zealous tongue, kissing Steve back to silence.

He’s just, it’s too much, way too much, and having Steve looking at him, kissing him, _seeing_ him is surreal, like another one of his visions. Its mounting, this indescribable feeling, shaking Tony down to his foundations, breaking the parts that are beyond repair and fixing those smaller nicks with gentle touches, fleeting breaths shared between them.

After a second, Tony moves; feels the harsh drag of Steve inside of him and plunges down again, moaning against Steve’s lips. Tony’s name escapes Steve like a blessing, a benediction and Tony closes his eyes to the image of Steve staring at him with so much _love_ Tony’s almost physically incapable of handling it.

One. Two thrusts and Tony’s throwing his head back, nearly screaming Steve’s name between choked out sobs and Steve’s following after a second, a terse grunt kicked out of the super-soldier as he reaches completion as well.

“God,” Steve huffs out pressing his lips in a soft kiss against Tony’s neck, pressing the boneless body against his, “God, I just--”

“Yeah,” Tony whispers hoarsely, letting his eyes drift closed, allowing Steve to press him back into the bed. Steve pulls out tenderly, watching Tony’s features for any pain or discomfort but Tony’s eyes remain firmly shut. Steve sighs, curls his body towards the nightstand and fetches the shirt that he had placed there last night in favor of sleeping shirtless.

By the time Steve is finished cleaning them both up, Tony’s shifted under the covers and his breaths have evened out. Suspecting the other to be asleep, Steve curls himself more firmly around the other, closes his eyes and whispers into the air.

“I hope you know just how much I love you. And I swear, you’ll know, and I’ll remind you every day because _I know you_ , I know just how you are and you’ll always need to hear it. I’ll tell you in the mornings when you wake up and can’t think without  your twelve cups of coffee; I’ll tell you when you call me out for being too overbearing and I’ll tell you in the nights when it’s just us two.”

A pause, and then Steve continues. “Is… is it presumptuous? To think that you’ll keep wanting me, actually _keep_ me?” Steve sighs and presses his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, breath fanning hotly across the exposed flesh. “Is it too foolish to think of the future, _our_ future, when today has only been one day and there are a list of things that can go wrong? How we can die on a daily basis?”

“Am I stupid for still wanting to try? For still loving you?”

 

No one answers Steve. He hadn’t expected anyone to, anyway. Months of asking himself the same questions have never lead to any answers, anyway.

* * *

 

Tony’s eyes scrunch together and he tries to keep his heart from beating too loudly.

(Steve doesn’t need to know that he’s awake.)

* * *

 

They lay in bed together for a few more hours; Steve sleeps and Tony, for once, simply basks in the silence and the comfort and the warm weight of the arm draped across his waist. He remains silent, almost brooding, thinking only of the morning and the unexpected _tha-thump, tha-thump_ of a constant heartbeat against his back.

Tony knows this can go wrong in numerous ways. They’re each-other’s weakness, Achilles’ heel, just another target amongst the targets stacked on their backs. From a logical perspective they’ve just basically endangered the other even more.

From Tony’s stand point, though it’s more like: Fuck it. They’re already in danger.

So it’s not really a cup half-full or half-empty situation. More of a “I’m thirsty and you have water. Can I have it?” sort of things.

Inane, post-sex, pre-some-sort-of-Apocalyptic mornings are not mixing well with Tony Stark. Let the record show this, stamp it and sent it to Congress.

Albeit restlessly, Tony falls asleep.

* * *

 

He thinks he sees the girl again.

He remembers a golden apple.

She’s crying, says to him:

“May you know eternal happiness”

The world is black and white and gray. The golden apple that rolls between them in the light-slate grass begins to decay. Only a single, boney-white core remains.

“ _She holds the golden apples, and rules over the tree… eternal youth, everlasting beauty… death, madness… immortality_ ”

With a start, Tony wakes up.

“I believe I have located something, sir.” Jarvis says and Tony groans, feels the lovely ache at the base of his spine, the faint tenseness of his muscles, the creaking of his bones. Steve is still sleeping in bed behind Tony and the man grunts, face scrunching, but doesn’t wake up. Tony sighs and slumps back into the bed, throwing an arm across his eyes.

“What is it, Jarvis?” Tony groans, wanting nothing more than to slink further into the sheets, wait for Steve to return to consciousness and maybe have a few more rounds in the dark. Despite what he wants, though, Tony knows that Jarvis’ interruption is nothing less than important and pertinent to the visions and the Enchantress.

“Sir, there is a strange influx of paranormal activity in the state of Kansas; the energy signatures are a kin to those encountered in the movie theater. There has been a ninety-seven percent image relation between a woman seen on a gasoline station’s camera and the image of the Enchantress I have stored.

“The town’s news channel is bustling with reports of light creatures and small quakes despite being told that the seismograph has recorded nothing alarming nor over the norm. I do believe this is a sign of magical interference in the natural order of the city. Would you like me to get your suit ready for travel, sir?”

Silence resounds in the small room before Tony grudgingly answers.

“Yeah. Get ready to suit up, I’ll be a minute.”

* * *

 

The city of Laurence, Kansas is a quiet one, despite a tumultuous history and some odd-goings.  The greatest threat to their little communal peace was a family fire back in the late eighties and a supposed haunting a good few years later.  There’s a residential market, a few old school Mama’s and Papa’s type stores and a community psychic, _what even—_

Tony reads up on all the history he can as he ratchets up his repulsers to get there faster. He tried to calculate the amount of time he had readily available to spend meandering through the street, interrogating people and maybe paying a visit to the residential psychic. He’d have about three to four hours at most, especially if anything started to happen in the immediate area or if the Avengers would be needed.

“Alright, Jarvis, let’s pay a visit to this psychic and then lock up the suit, I’m going to try to go civilian and get some information. You have the address for the psych and the last known-image of where Amora was, right?”

“Yessir.”

“Alright, let’s get this freak-show on the road.” Tony muses.

After another thirty minutes of going over everything he lands just barely out of the city, a ten minute walk away from the psychic’s house. His armor all dismantles and locks itself back up, Jarvis leading it back to the penthouse.

Tony’s a little glad that he chose to wear just regular jeans and an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt when he starts to blend into the surprisingly crowded street. He scruffs against the rubble-strewn road with the front of one of his Chuck’s, kicking away some smaller chunks of loose gravel. There are people just milling about on the main street, murmuring to each other while others rush by in something akin to fear. Tony grimaces and walks up the steps of the Victorian style wooden home.

A woman opens the door, kind looking and a little plump, mahogany skin and all-knowing eyes. She sighs and takes a step back, widens the door space and motions with her head. “I know what you’re thinkin’, Mister Stark, and if you’re gonna be here in my little city, well, it’s good to know what we’re dealin’ with. I think you’ll probably have more answers for me than answers I will have for you.” The woman beckons again. “Names Missouri, now get your behind in here so we can get my city settled. We don’t like no disturbances, ya’ hear, and I’m tired of these loud beings taking up my airspace.”

Tony isn’t used to this, this sort of motherly-caring figure. He’s in the house and following Missouri before he’s even consciously aware and she’s chatting away niceties like another good host, not babbling at his feet and what-not. It’s… nice. It’s relaxing.

“Oh, honey, if you _knew_ the things I know, you’d be this nice, too.” Missouri humphs and Tony grins.

“Well, Miss Missouri, what _can_ you tell me?” Tony starts and the psychic ushers him to sit. She sits across from him silently, simply watching him with those dark eyes.

“It’s not of this world, that’s for sure. Sure as hell ain’t no ghost, either.” Missouri sighs and sits further back in her loveseat. “A being of another world came to me in a dream: Snotra, or something, and said that this would happen. That there would be death and scattered about would be the Valkyrie, sort of like reapers of souls but of the other world.” Missouri picks up the mug that was on the table and takes a sip of its contents, studying Tony. “Now, what do _you_ know about these creatures, let alone a _Sveid_?”

“I wasn’t very much _into_ mythology, to be frank,” Tony shrugs, leans forward, “this other world, though, Asgard, I have a battle buddy from there.” Tony grins as he props his head on his hand. “I think I’ll ask him. The Valkyrie, though, that’s an interesting point there. Swan-women that would take the souls of fallen warriors. Sveid was the Valkyrie associated with vibrations, so that’s the earthquakes,” Tony stops, thinks about the information given.

There’s a puzzle here. A bigger picture. Tony’s just not looking at it at the right angle, something is wrong, just… not there. He sighs, closes his eyes.

“You said that you were spoken to in a dream, and you’re psychic, and there’s a Valkyrie about…” Tony recaps and Missouri hums her agreement. “But there’s something else..?” Tony ventures and Missouri closes her eyes and nods. “About me?”

“She told me you would come, and that the Valkyrie Sveid was a sign.” Missouri looks up into Tony’s eyes, so incredibly sad. Tony swallows thickly.

“A sign for what?”

“An upcoming battle and eminent death.”

* * *

 

The building Jarvis indicates is vacant, empty. All that remains are the smeared remains of a chalk outline on the far wall of the abandoned office. Tony’s fingers skip along the brown smudges, each contour and cut of color against the eggshell paint. The lines all came together at the base of the floor and rose to the ceiling and across, like swirling branches of color.

The building was vacated for ten years, Tony knows, and was condemned to be demolished for the following month.

Amora was nowhere in sight.

Using his phone, Tony scans the room and takes a sample of the pile of thread resting against the wall at the base of the tree-chalk outlined and the fragments of some kind of animal hair that dusts the floors.

If someone from Asgard is trying to wipe out a whole populace, well, Tony knows where to go with his questions.

* * *

 

“Captain, Master Stark has returned from his earlier endeavor, would you like me to fetch him for you?” Jarvis speaks from another unseen speaker and Steve pauses for a moment, runs a hand through his hair before deciding what to do next.

“Yeah? Nah, actually, I think I’ll find him in a bit. Just keep an eye on him, please? Make sure he doesn’t go through another episode. I know it’s been a while but…” Steve trails off.

“If he so much as walks in an unusual manner I will have him quarantined,” Jarvis pipes up, mock-serious and Steve laughs. Leave it to Tony to make an AI with a lot less Artificial-ness and a serious, morose sense of humor.

“Thanks, Jarvis”

* * *

 

The next thirty minutes are a blur.

It goes _flash, flash, flash_ like a series of photos, quick and there and gone again, leaving only bright lights behind.

It’s more like a snap of fingers, here and gone but the sound still stays fresh in your mind.

Tony doesn’t think he understands until it’s over, until he opens his eyes and—

_Snap! Flash!_

It’s over.

* * *

 

Tony’s waiting for Thor to return from SHIELD in the basement lab of Stark Tower. With Jarvis running scans on the different bits of fibers Tony brought back and the image of the tree, Tony is left with only his thoughts and a bunch of searches to work with on his own, Tony sighs and leans back in his chair. He hates this, idle work and research, but it's something so he flips over to the next tab, opens a new window in mid-air and opens all live feeds in Laurence.

With Enchantress gone, the city seems to have calmed down a bit. Tony smiles a little at the news and flips over to another tab, another city broadcasting supernatural activity about.

"Hey Jarvis, any word on the hair follicles I brought you?" Tony pipes up, rolling across the floor to the main circular table in the center. Jarvis brings up a detailed diagram of the hair from the table and breaks it down into components for Tony to fully see.

"They are wolf hairs, Sir, of a sort," Jarvis starts, "they're much longer than a regular wolf's fur but when dealing with this current predicament it's clear that the distinction should not be of immediate import. The threads you have also had me analyze seem to be made of a strange organic material, impenetrable by any kind of metal here on earth yet seemingly fragile. I have also run an image analysis on the tree and have linked it with Yggdrasil, the Asgardian Tree of Life that extends its branches and roots to the other worlds, as it is said.”

“So we have golden thread, a wolf and a tree.” Tony bobs his head and taps his fingers on the counter. “Not too shabby. Is our friendly neighborhood Asgardian-pseudo-norse-god expert here yet?”

“Yessir, I believe Master Odinson has just arrived and is on the garage level. Would you have me send him here?”

“Nah, I’ll go see him myself.” Tony gets up, stretches his shoulders and cracks his back. “I hate sitting around, anyway. Thanks, Jarvis”

“Of course, sir”

* * *

It's like a series of stills, with the words all out of place: darkness, Thor, Steve, Enchantress, Loki, blood, darkness, light, golden apples, golden hair, Steve, darkness; "Hlín protects you, the Valkyrie will guide you" they say and Tony wants to laugh because he was wrong, so wrong, he was wrong all along. He hears mad laughter and feels a hand run through his hair, whisper soothing words into the silence.

What does it matter if he was wrong, if it would always end with this?

* * *

 

“What connection does Yggdrasil have with golden thread?” Tony asks Thor and the god pauses for a moment and raps his knuckles against the chain-links of his armor before shrugging.

“There are the Norns at the well of Urd, based on the root in my home of Asgard,” Thor replies hesitantly, as if pondering his own answer. “Your mortal equivalent of Fates, I suppose, three crones that would spin the thread of life of each living thing—plants, people, animals and the likes. Battle brother,” Thor boomed, “why do you ask?”

“Oh, just a little curious, I guess.” Tony deadpans. “One more, very quickly--”

* * *

 

Tony opens his eyes. His head hurts and his eyes sting; the principle attack to the back of his head and temple throb and (what Tony assumes is) blood runs down his forehead and into his eyes. His arms are shackled and connected to the floor by a two-foot long chain heavier than Tony can lift. His body is slightly curled inwards, arms bracketed together and extended further from his body. He hears someone in the near vicinity but it’s too dark to see and his head is aching, throbbing, hurting.

Tony gives in and lurches back into a near-fetal position, unconscious.

* * *

“What does a wolf have to do with the tree?” Tony asks.

“Well, nothing, really; though my people do have prophesies of the Ragnarök, in which many of us will fall in battle with strong foes. It will be an end to our era of rulers and the start of a new era. It is prophesized that my father will meet defeat to Fenrir, who will swallow him whole.” Thor doesn’t look a smidgeon bothered.

“That’s just…” Tony huffs out a breath, at a lost of words. “Unpleasant”

“In Asgard, there is no better death than to fall in battle.” Thor booms, grinning and slapping a hand against Tony’s back. “To my people, death is another adventure.”

* * *

Steve looks at the clock. Knowing Tony, and how forgetful the man can be, he pads barefoot into the kitchen to prepare something to eat to take to the eccentric billionaire.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Where’s Tony?”

“He’s at the car garage with Master Odinson, Captain”

“Alright, I’m heading down there to give him lunch”

“That would be most appreciated, Master Rogers”

* * *

It’s dark and Tony doesn’t know what time it is. He’s cold (from loss of blood?) and aching at the joints. The warehouse he’s in is small and mostly comprised of individual storing rooms with thin walls. He can hear Thor in the other room, causing a ruckus but no one else.

Tony closes his eyes when the sound of clicking heels begins to echo towards him.

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the emerald boots, blond hair and mad eyes.

“Looks like I caught a stray,” Amora teases, “oh, well. Maybe you can be a witness to my greatness; you can be in the front row of my spectacular show and,” her heel digs into Tony’s chest, forces him to turn over while simultaneously dislocating Tony’s wrist with the force of her shove, “Midgardian, it will be _grand._ ”

* * *

They’re walking together and talking about more myths and Thor’s worry about his mother’s ailing health when everything stops.

It’s as if they’ve become absorbed in some kind of vacuum: the hum of the electric systems mutes, and the sound of their breathing is gone; the lights all flicker and fail at the same time.

With a jolt, Tony understands his own folly.

Enchantress wasn’t looking for an apocalypse, all she really wanted was—

“You’re **_mine, Thor Odinson!”_**

Tony can’t finish his thought because the next thing he knows is darkness, and the muffled, warbled sound of Jarvis sounding the alarm.

* * *

“Captain, there’s been a breach in the building. Security code: 2704; all R&D Floors to be locked and closed for 48 hours. The main entrance shall now be locked; Amora the Enchantress has been located within the building and both Master Stark and Odinson are missing.”

* * *

The available Avengers are all assembled in SHIELD HQ within half an hour of Jarvis sounding the alarm. With most agents and Avengers out doing damage control, Steve and Peter are the only two available agents to find Thor and Tony. Fury, though understanding, is adamant that they work on finding the two as soon as possible with their available resources.

With Avenger’s tower on lockdown, well, there are only so many resources the two can utilize.

Peter’s working with Jarvis an hour after the two Avengers went missing, trying to find a basis for finding Amora. Steve is stuck simply waiting; pacing about the mission room and waiting for a sign, for any show of the villainess’ visage to reappear.

One hour turns to three. Then five, and then Peter is switching off with Steve, telling him that Jarvis is running over a thousand video scans and all he needs to wait for is an alert.

Steve doesn’t sleep at all tonight. He thinks of Tony, captured by a mad woman in love and shudders.

He thinks of Thor, the man on the receiving end of such unwanted affections and sighs.

No matter how much power he has, Steve realizes, he will always be powerless where it matters.

By the 24 hour mark, both Peter and Steve are tired and still waiting on Jarvis for any information.

By hour 26, Jarvis finally has news.

“I believe Loki Lauffeyson is attempting to breach my security; he claims he knows how to find Enchantress, thus finding Thor and Tony.” Jarvis pulls up a video feed of Stark Tower and sure enough there is Loki, though in civilian clothing, standing idly by the gate. “Any orders?”

“Keep him out, I’d say,” Peter mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And if he _does_ know how to find them?” Steve presses, seeing an opportunity literally knocking on their door. “You said he seemed to have an aversion to Enchantress, and actually fought against her. Now that she’s taken Thor and Tony, maybe it’s enough to have him help us.”

“Or deliver us to a trap!” Peter retorts.

* * *

“The Tesseract is more than power,” Loki hisses as they rattle in the Quinjet. “It’s more or less the equivalent of a genie in a bottle; it sees your wishes, your wants and desires and warps the world around them. Your conviction must be as strong as iron and unbendable like the mountains. If your wish is possible then the Tesseract can make it true, will bend the cosmos to your will. It is energy and truth.”

“What does Amora want with it?” Steve asks, clenching and unclenching his fist behind his shield.

“She wants Thor.” Loki turns away to face the hatch and grimaces. “But she can’t have him. She believes the Tesseract will bind him to her.” The grin that spreads through Loki’s pale features is sinister, devious.

“I’ll show her how _true_ power looks like”

* * *

Tony’s head still aches, though the throbbing in his temples has changed into something almost familiar, almost telling. He should feel surprised that it has taken almost a whole day of being captured to start to feel even an inkling of dread and that ell-tale dizziness of an other-worldly presence try to enter his mind, submerge him in the murky waters of unconsciousness.

* * *

“I can put a block, if you want,” Missouri smiles softly, taking Tony’s hand in her warm grasp. They’re at the front door, Tony on the threshold. It must be symbolic, Tony thinks numbly, being on this precipice of the strange and unusual, the fantastic and real and the madness that awaits outside.

“That won’t be necessary,” Tony shrugs. “I haven’t had an, an _episode_ for a few days.”

“If anything,” Missouri presses, leaning forward, “let me give you the choice.”

Having someone in your mind, fiddling about isn’t as odd as Tony would like to think. When she let’s go of his hands, he realizes just how lonely a busy mind can feel.

“Oh, honey,” Missouri smiles as she pats Tony’s cheek, so intimate and close for only knowing him for the hour they talked, “you’re never alone. I can bet that there are already a number of people that depend and rely on you, and care for you. In fact, I can name one that would be completely lost without you.” Her smile is devious, teasing.

* * *

He’s in a marshland, walking over the gray-green water. Smoke rises around him, a thick fog that leaves nothing but the muddy water under his Converse. The air is damp and still, eerie in its desolateness. Tony continues walking, though, lets the buzzing at the base of his skull lead him forward, to turns and twists in an intangible road. The tall reed-like grasses that rise from the waters sway in a wind that does not exist.

Tony stops suddenly, and listens.

“The fabric of reality draws taut,” the winds whisper, soft, gently, “and the threads begin to unravel.”

“I don’t do well without faces,” Tony points out sardonically, “just thought you should know”

“And I do not do well in health, young Stark.” The voice replies, teasing. “I bring you to my lands, the land of my offerings, in hope that you will understand at last. My all-seeing eyes have seen the future, but they have also seen the past. Will you stand up to Madness and Death? Or shall the world perish in quake and fire?”

“So I was right. It _is_ me.” Tony murmurs to himself, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I am no hero”

* * *

They’re somewhere on the outskirts of a small, New York city. The people in the town number somewhere in the thousands, all knowing of their neighbors in such an enclosed, small space.

Outside of an old, dilapidated warehouse, Steve and Loki wait. Steve looks down at his own red-gloved hands, tests the durability of his already worn-in uniform, and sends the Asgardian a long side-glance. It’s been almost 36 hours, almost 4 in the afternoon, and Steve’s beyond anxious now.

He looks at the silver-plated watch in his pocket (not the old pocket watch, worn and so full of unhappy memories with each tick of the hands) and hauls it out of the small pouch by the black bands.

“Your Iron Man is in the second room; be wary, Amora is most adept at traps and snares. When you enter, forgo the first room with my brother. I will unbind him from Amora’s entrapment. You will go for your comrade and leave both Thor and Enchantress to me.” Loki doesn’t turn from the building, intense emerald gaze focused on the rotting wood. His Midgardian clothing looks almost uncomfortable for such a mission, tight black slacks, a black coat and green scarf; in almost a blink the clothes are melting, distorting until the Asgardian is dressed in golden metal armor, in his traditional battle garb.

“You’re not thinking about leaving me in there, are you?” Steve huffs, half-amused and half-serious.

The critical look that Loki gives him is all serious, the kind of look Steve recognizes. It’s the look of a soldier marching out to a battle they may not win, for a cause worth dying for.

“You go for your comrade. Leave the rest to me. She has a relic that is beyond her control, beyond the control of any being. Do not try to fight her.”

* * *

“A hero is not a winner; not the victor of a battle,” The voice points out. “A legacy does not make a hero; the situation does. I know you, Young Stark. In my arms are the souls of a million soldiers lost at war and they are not all heroes. A hero does not have to be heroic, nor honest; not all martyrs are heroes.”

“I chose you because you are broken, and lost, and so very _flawed_. You are the beauty of mortality; you have been tainted with violence yet you search for peace, fight for the common wealth, for redemption. You’re impulsive perfection, beautifully flawed, disastrously perfect. You are fiendish in your vain ambitions, heavenly in your wiles, but you fear and regret so heartily; so impeccably _human_.

“I choose you because you are a hero. You will sacrifice yourself for others, and in doing so you are selfless and noble. A lifetime does not define you; a situation does. And what is life but the careful management of a succession of situations?”

Tony doesn’t speak for a long while, letting the words, the kindly, sympathetic voice wash over him. After a heartbeat, he speaks:

“I know who you are”

The voice laughs.

“My son always told me that you were quite clever.”

* * *

Steve blinks, and the fifteen minutes of disaster flashes before his eyes.

 _Too late_ , he thinks distantly, _always too late._

* * *

Steve doesn’t look back at Loki as he storms through to the other room. The Sorcerer is busy murmuring to Thor, pressing a hand against the leather straps holding up the blonde. Steve hears the sound of burning and knows that Loki is getting hurt, is getting burned by the magic as he unwinds the spells.

Don’t look back. Don’t try to help. Loki is adamant.

Steve closes his eyes, breaks open the second door.

“Tony,” he breathes, relieved and exhausted all at once. Tony’s a little worn looking, tired, hunched over on his knees with his arms stretched out with the tension of the chains holding him down to the ground. Tony’s head snaps up, hope and fear and pain etched across his features.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Tony croaks, eyes filling with tears.

* * *

“I knew you would come,” Amora hisses, stomping down the open door of the warehouse, eyes wide and glassy, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. “You cannot take Thor! He is mine, not _yours!_ ” She shrieks and Loki grins, hands shaking, bleeding, burnt and fragile with the tissues almost charred through.

“Oh, and how it must _irk_ you, that what you want the most belongs to me,” Loki grins, tongue pressing against his front teeth, head cocked slightly to the right, towards Thor. “And you will never gain it, and it will never be yours because _Thor Odinson belongs to me!_ ”

“Wretched _concubine_ , you can only wish to warm the beds of warriors such as us! You not unfit for anything other than to become one with the ashes of Niflheim, as Hel’s footstool!” Enchantress shouts and she raises her hands, eyes flashing, hair billowing behind her shoulders. “Leave, like the little coward you are, and you shall suffer from no injury.”

“You dare stand there, hiding behind a relic, a tool that _gives_ you power, because we both know that you are no match for me,” Loki grins, hand smoking as he removes the leather strap holding Thor’s head up. The god falls, a heavy, dead weight on Loki’s side but he quickly deposits him against the wall, eyes never leaving Enchantress’ eyes. “Come, then, show this _common whore_ what you can do with your limited, childish power.”

Enchantress flicks her right arm and the room drops in temperature, the air between the two Asgardians charged with something like static electricity. Loki’s palms bleed continuously, the skin gnarled and peeling around the base of his fingers. He grins, feels the blood thrumming through his body even as his palms begin to heal themselves, and widens his stance for an attack. Amora does not disappoint, lashing out with a tendril of crimson energy at Loki like a whip.

Loki swings his left arm into it, twines the whip around his wrist three times and yanks forward, throwing Enchantress off balance.

“That all you have?” Loki jeers, yanking Amora closer with her own weapon.

* * *

Steve’s hands burn when he touches the metal cuffs holding Tony down. When he recoils, though, he notices the angry red skin wrapping around Tony’s wrist in the surrounding space about the thick metal.

“She enchanted them, or something,” Tony rasps, looking down. “I think you need to leave, she might--” the sounds of shouting and fighting reach them from across the thin wooden panels of a wall. “-- _return_ ” Tony finishes flatly.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking,” Steve growls as he shifts his attention to the chains and the metal clasp on the floor, “but I sure as hell am _not_ leaving you here.”

Tony closes his eyes with a groan as the metal digs a little deeper and feels Steve’s gloved hands frame his cheeks and pull his head back up.

“I swear to god, Tony, I will get you out”

* * *

The link, it’s a two way street. Tony keeps his eyes closed, thinks with all his might, tries to picture himself sending his thoughts across, and pleads.

“Just a little bit of juice. Just unlock these chains, please.”

“You have a plan,” they reply. Tony shrugs helplessly as Enchantress shouts from the other room and another loud wave of energy ripples across the air, forcing the wood to shudder.

“I have an idea”

* * *

Loki looks up, coughing as Amora encroaches on his prone form. She’s a bundle of aggressive, irrational energy and the power of the Cosmic Cube to back it. Loki knows, logically, that he has a minimal chance of escaping alive or unharmed but damned if he won’t get Thor the hell out of here. He hasn’t caught sight of Captain America with his captive friend and knows, somehow, that things are starting to unravel fast here.

Amora steps into his line of vision, blonde hair knotted and eyes wide, unseeing.

Loki personally knows the feeling, the feeling of the Tesseract running through your veins, tugging at your muscles, your mind. It’s a rush of adrenaline and crippling fear, to have so much power, so much _sight_ and no control what so ever. An empty vessel with no true power, the whole of the universe in your grasp.

Amora shares that look now, of unbridled rage and fear and hatred. The cube lies on the ground a few feet away where it’s been uncloaked. Her hand shakes, bruises and burns running up the long expanse of her arms. Her lip is busted, bleeding a steady stream down her chin and there’s the faint blossom of bruises on her neck and clavicle where Loki had his hand wrapped firmly in a strangle.

Her arm jerks up and Loki spares Thor a glance, lets himself take in the image of his brother safe before looking back at Amora and the gun she levels at him.

“Do you honestly believe that your little, ordinary gun will kill me?” Loki scoffs, tilts his head.

“Oh, dear Loki Silver-Tongue,” Amora tsks,“ who said this gun is anything _but_ ordinary?” She tilts the gun to point directly at the God’s face and fingers the trigger seductively. Loki’s eyes widen as a sliver of electric blue winks at him from within the chamer.

He whips his head to observe the Tesseract.

It’s broken.

* * *

Steve’s trying to pull the metal clasps riveted to the floor when Tony’s eyes snap open and the gauntlets unlock.

“Tony!” Steve grins, but the smile falters when Tony mutters a low ‘sorry’ and moves the cuff quickly, the chains rattling obscenely in the ensuing silence only to click into place.

Around Steve’s wrists.

“Tony?” Steve grunts, falling forward as the bind begins to burn his skin. “Tony!”

“I’m sorry, Steve but I just, I have to do this!” Tony replies huskily, scrambling to rise.

“Loki! Watch Thor!”

* * *

Loki snaps out of his reverie as Tony shouts out his name. In less than a second Loki is twisting his body around Thor’s, just as the bigger Asgardian lurches forward in an attempt to protect Loki from the click of the gun.

Loki’s body disappears and the shard of the Tesseract goes flying into the wall. Thor grunts as his body hits the ground again and Loki is there I a blink, his clone long  in the air. “Brother?” Thor rumbles and Loki grins.

“Ay, Thor,” he grunts, shoving the Asgardian onto his back. Enchantress’ hand shakes, rattling the gun as she shoves her second shard into the weapon.

“What you do is not only foolish and frivolous but will lead to damages and consequences unforeseen and unparalleled,” Loki forewarns, “the Tesseract is already highly volatile, by breaking apart some of its components you are removing the equilibrium of the universe itself! Stop, Amora, before your own tenacious avarice and childish obsession destroys this world and all those we must protect!”

“What do you care?” Amora spits out, staggering to the door heading into the other room. “All these times you’ve come to linger in Midgard, you have never once tried to _protect_ the lowly midgardians, never have you once shown empathy for them—“

“I have never tried to destroy all _nine realms!_ ” Loki rebuttals. “This is madness this is--”

“This is my calling,” Amora hisses, aiming for the doorway. “And I have seen the sort of world that can be made and, darling Loki,” Enchantress’ face transforms from a smooth, serene sort of madness to a wicked, depraved visage of insanity in a mere second as the door slowly opens, “it’s going to be _all mine!_ ”

* * *

The plan doesn’t work exactly as Tony thought it would.

For one, the minute he opens the door, a shard of electric blue embeds itself in his bicep. It’s like a brand of white-hot heat digging into his muscles and bone and, _god_ , it’s _painful_ and Steve’s shouting at Tony but he only distantly hears it over the rush of blood in his ears and the painful _thump-thump-thump_ of his racing heart.

He can hear Loki in the other room and racing footsteps in the doorway.

The chunk of wood is thrown of its rusting rusted hinges and Tony curses when the tell-tale shine of emerald body armor glints in the blaring hot afternoon sunlight. He looks up into her hazy green eyes and thinks, not for the first time, that he was too late.

_Always too late._

* * *

She’s standing there for a moment, gun smoking in her hand and in the next she’s falling, bleeding, side splitting open. She screams, something blood-curdling, something thirsty for vengeance, and fumbles about with a bloodied hand. Tony takes a deep breath, hobbles forward, ignores the sound of chains behind him, Steve shouting at him to stop.

Each step is agony. There’s a shard of the Tesseract embedded in his bicep, a steady stream of blood dribbling down the length of his arm, gently dripping from his finger tips and onto the floor.

“I want them dead,” Amora chokes out, fingers brushing the cracked cube. “I want them _all dead!_ ” She shrieks.

Tony lunges.

The Tesseract, Tony understands now better than before, is more. It’s an entity in and of itself, almost alive with no other function and nothing to learn from than the surrounding hands. Insofar, it seems, the Tesseract is a weapon. It was a weapon for the Jotun; it became a relic to the Asgardians. It was a tool for destruction for the Red Skull, it was a portal to war for Loki. It’s a tool now, as well, to grant Amora her dastardly wishes.

“I need your help,” Tony thinks savagely, feels the ground begin to rumble beneath his body. “I want to save everyone.” Amora’s hand claws at Tony’s arm, but he doesn’t pay her any heed. The shaking slows, and Tony feels it. Feels this presence, and he knows it’s the cube, the energy reaching out; he knows by Clint’s explanation of how it felt to be under the cube’s power, its influence.

“Anything, just let me save them,” Tony shoves at the prickling, cold sensation that spreads through his body.

The cube shudders, shrinks in his grasp until it fits in the palm of his hand.

He knows.

The cube shudders.

* * *

Steve tugs on the chains vainly, heart in his throat. Amora’s bleeding out and Tony’s hand shake as he rises to his knees. Steve glares at Loki, a few feet away with Thor leaning heavily on Loki’s side.

“Why are you standing there!” Steve grunts as the power of the seals digs into his wrist. “Get me out, let’s _go!_ ”

 _“You don’t understand_ , _”_ Loki whispers, gaze steady on Tony’s profile. “There is no stopping this. He’s been marked, he’s been chosen. Tony Stark knows what he has to do.” Loki tears his gaze away to look at Steve, an inkling of sympathy in those understanding green eyes.

“I can’t just—Tony! Tony!” Steve shouts and watches in horror as Tony looks up and their eyes meet, so worried, so sad and determined that Steve can’t blink or he knows he’s going to miss something.

“Steve,” Tony whispers numbly, bloodied hand clenching on the small, broken cube. “I’m sorry.” Tony’s steady hand moves slowly, skims along the hem of his musky shirt and begins to slide up the plains of his stomach. “I am so sorry, Steve” Tony repeats and Steve is silent and alarmed, completely thrown off.

“Tony what are you--”

“The building is going to collapse, Captain, we need to leave,” Loki starts, hefting Thor slightly higher with a proprietary arm around the god’s waist. He moves forward, free hand extending, when Steve finally reacts.

Tony’s hand yanks at the arc reactor. Steve watches the blue glow move with jerky tugs until it’s free, it’s out in the open air. Loki’s hand is already disabling the spell once more when Tony looks up at Steve, a single tear falling down his cheek. Steve freezes, numbed by fear. The building groans as a piece of wood from the ceiling cracks in two between them.

“I love you,” Tony whispers as the ceiling begins to fall apart.

* * *

_The savior must give their heart up to the world—_

_The savior must—_

_One, just one person to save them all._

_He must sacrifice who he is and give up his heart to the people—_

_Nothing is as it seems._

_Nothing is as it seems._

_Nothing—_

_The savior must **die.**_

* * *

Tony’s body feels icy, a painful sort of numb that intensifies with each movement. “Protect them, protect him,” Tony thinks like a mantra, a creed. He places the reactor down, ejects the functioning core and shoves the Tesseract in with the final vestiges of his strength. A bloody hand wraps around the core and Tony looks up for the briefest of moments to look into Steve’s wide blue eyes.

Tony closes his eyes and shoves the reactor in beneath his shirt.

It hurts, god, the pain is _unbearable_ , like a thousand razor blades are pumping through his veins. He wants to scream but the words turn to ash in his mouth, the sounds all wither and die on his tongue. Everything turns white and blue-white heat that’s engulfing his body.

Tony closes his eyes, imagines Steve laid out before him, feels those strong fingers carding through his hair so gently, hears that husky voice whisper, “am I stupid for still wanting to try? For still loving you?”

Tony smiles.

A hand, small and frail and so very gentle, runs through his hair. Tony doesn’t open his eyes, tries to keep the flow of good memories running through his mind.

“You have done well, my son”

Tony screams.

* * *

“Tony!”, Steve cries out but it’s too late, the building is collapsing and the wooden beams all creak and groan as they fall to pieces, shatter into small splinters that  seem to freeze in midair. “Tony!”

There’s an explosion of light from the other side of the debris, and Steve struggles, tries to find a way to get through but Loki is grabbing his arm, dragging him out.

He hears Tony yell once, only once, and as he finally gets free from Loki’s bloody grasp the building collapses.

Steve falls hard on his knees, hood pooling behind his neck, emotionless, empty.

Someone hauls him away, drags him back on his feet.

There are cars, now.

Lights, bright and flaring red and blue.

A gruff voice is cutting the air, demanding answers.

He thinks Loki might have left already. Thor is leaning heavily on Steve’s side, murmuring answers to the voices.

The air smells like ozone and amaranths. Steve feels like throwing up. Peter is saying something to him, pressing a hand against the already healing burn marks on Steve’s wrist.

“Cap, where-where’s Tony?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I--”

He looks down, chocking on his own words, his own breath and the air is scorching, he’s burning up but no one notices, no one can see that he’s _dying now there’s nothing left here, he’s drowning and can’t breathe—_

His watch is on the floor, broken. Sunlight gleams off the broken face, forever stuck on 4:15. Steve closes his eyes.

He wants to scream (and remembers Tony, so strong, so very stupid, how he didn’t scream until everything came coming down) but takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shaky, watery sigh.

“I don’t know”

It smells like smoke and fire and death and pain and-and flowers, _amaranths_ , Thor whispers to Steve, like a secret, as if the world wasn’t just ending. Steve swallows the pain, the questions like a bitter pill stuck in his throat and closes his eyes, thinks of the rain ~~and not, decidedly, how they would always find each other on the highest floor, on the roof of Avengers/Stark tower after the rain, where Pepper liked to keep some flower boxes, and the smell of ozone and Amaranths was potent with the smell of damp weather and wet ground~~ and the comforting sound of people murmuring about. Silence would be too much. Steve hates silence, hates the feeling that everyone is overthinking about one thing or another.

~~Steve doesn’t think of how he’s going to live on from now on. Doesn’t think about how that morning’s “what could go wrong” became a reality.~~

It smells like ozone, though, and amaranths. Steve thinks Tony wouldn’t have gone out any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the epilogue up next!


	5. Phoenix Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything - all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important."_ \--Steve Jobs

Its two weeks later when Fury finally puts Thor and Steve on leave. The tower seems empty, silent now, missing a vital part of it that made it their home. When the rest of the Avengers return (because the Warehouse Incident, as it has been dubbed, was the prompting for the end of the strange and bizarre occurrences throughout the world) to the building they are quiet, subdued.

Even Jarvis seems quieter now, and certain rooms and floors remain empty.

Clint doesn’t try to scare anyone from the rafters.  Jan is strangely sullen, and hardly ever utters a word except to Hank when he comes out of his labs to drag her away every few hours or so. (They all pretend to not notice how each time she returns her eyes are red rimmed and she’s sniffling too loudly to be allergies.)

Natasha hasn’t left Pepper’s side.

The only odd thing is how, whenever mentioned, Thor vehemently protests the announcement of his death and the passing of the company officially to Pepper. No one understands his reasoning and they tend to let him rant as he pleases but it’s been a week.

(“No bodies were found,” Peter announces to the Avengers in the main room on the first floor. Their babbling stops immediately. “As in, neither Amora’s nor Tony’s body was at the site when the rubble was removed.”

They don’t even know what it means.

Steve’s sitting next to Pepper who is sitting with a regal air about her, tears streaming ceaselessly though she remains stoic. Steve breaks a little more.

They don’t dare to hope.)

Thor surprised Steve by dragging him out of the Tower. The Super-Soldier is too tired, too _lethargic,_ too **_everything_ ** to complain or fight back. By the time he has the will to ask where they’re heading, Thor had turned a giant grin to him and simply answered, as if they were heading to the corner market, “Asgard!”

* * *

Erik Selvig is a kind man, Steve knows, and after the Loki fiasco he had become an almost permanent fixture both in the Tower and Thor's conversation. Steve respected him.

When Thor grabs him and forces him onto the platform and Selvig shouts," I hope this works!" as they're engulfed in a bright blue light, well, Steve thinks he might have to reconsider his thoughts on the scientist.

* * *

Asgard is beautiful.

(After the initial bout of nausea, Steve needs a moment to make sure his organs have stopped trembling before he can even think about moving his limbs and Thor just laughs, so heartily and boisterous Steve forgets to be sad. Forgets that things aren't actually alright.)

The buildings are like castles made of glass. The architecture is older, more medieval but the foundations, the materials are like nothing he's ever seen in the world, all shiny metals and pearly roofs, onyx towers that reach higher than the eye can see. Thor is still waiting patiently for Steve's body to catch up but it's really his mind that's falling behind right now. They're standing on a giant shard of what feels like glass but it's thick and changing colors with every minute movement. The sky is dark and vast, shining with millions of stars and colored with the teal and orange and pink and aquamarine nebulas and galaxies from far off into the cosmos.

(He thinks that Tony would love being here, would have a brain-gasm from the architectural integrity of the bridge alone, but he stomps down that thought and gets a jump start on Thor who is already trudging down the path, greeting a tall man in golden armor and an unseeing stare.)

It takes what feels like only a few minutes to get to the main palace where Thor is cheered and greeted like a modern day celebrity. The introductions move in a blur, people calling Steve "A Warrior of Time" and "The Great Captain" and he only murmurs his greetings by reflex.

His eyes are drawn to the older woman sitting on a seat amongst other women to the side of the room. She looks weary, hair flowing loose and curled down the expanse of her shoulders. Her dress is white, long and flowing down past her feet with a single golden hemline wrapped around her waist and trailing down further than the bottom of her dress. She looks inelegant in comparison to the other women beside her and even those dining and milling about.

Her eyes, though, they're an icy hazel-blue that seems both welcoming and beseeching at once.

Steve has already made his way to her before he is consciously aware of his own movements. The alcove seems to quiet down as the two stare at each other until Steve finally bows his head and drops to a knee.

"Ma'am," He says softly, keeping his head bowed. The woman laughs and the hall seems to lighten with her cheerful mirth.

“Steven,” She greets. “Raise your head, young man.” Steve does what he is told and finds the woman kneeled before him as well, eyes searching his gaze for something. He doesn’t officially know who this woman is, though, is acting on basic instinct and so far it’s working.

Flying blind is kind of his legacy, anyway.

“I am Frigga, wife of Odin and mother to Thor and his other half-brothers.” She smiles as Steve visibly tenses. “I know you have experiences a difficult loss, Steven, and I know that the wound is still fresh and festering but there is always a silver lining. A life lost in good spirit is not in vain; and despite what a young man once told me, a hero never dies. Not truly, at least. They are resurrected in the afterlife or brought back by the mercy of the gods. A great man once told me that he was not a hero. Tell me, Steve, what makes a hero?”  Frigga has a knowledgable shine in her eyes but Steve is still caught up in the words she whispers.

“Ma’am, I--”

“The Tesseract is a wondrous thing, young Steven.” Frigga interrupts, leaning forward while placing a soft hand against his neck. “I do believe this will be the first time it will have been used in mercy, for protection. Such an act will not leave it unaffected.” She pauses for a moment, as if waiting for a reply but none comes. “And if one were to bite into one of my goddess’  Golden Apple of Immortality, well, then there’s that. It may not be enough for everlasting life but it may be a great influence to the object that has just seen its first taste of a hero.” Frigga smiles as Steve twitches under her hand.

“I never thought I could make it on time, though.” Frigga continues. “Amora’s intentions and all the omens I saw, they left me weak. I do heartily apologize for the worry I caused you when I would speak to Antony.” Frigga pauses, and continues, slightly bitter, “I knew he was the one, though, and I do not have any regrets. Quite the smart boy, I admit, and it pains me to admit that the visions I _did_ send him were quite… nightmarish.

“He is strong though, and in the end… I am glad it was him. I am glad he _is_ the hero. Without the help of the Asynjur’s male counterpart, especially after I marked Antony to be mine in the afterlife, I had a limited roster of Goddesses to help me” She pauses, presses her other hand against Steve’s cheek. “I know it hurts now, Steven, but Tony did everything for you, in the end. His conviction and love for you and your teammates and the world was much greater than his contempt for all the negative aspects he has ever seen. His love for you was far more powerful than Amora’s desire for my son.”

She moves slowly to press their foreheads together. Steve’s mind is still reeling, he can’t grasp her meaning, can’t— _what?_

“Nothing is truly ever lost, Steven, and what was once lost will come back to you,” Frigga whispers and Steve’s eyes close, and it’s strange, how this woman that he never met, never knew can make him feel so at ease and tense at the same time.

For the first time in two whole weeks, Steve lets himself fall apart. She holds him gently as he cries for the first time, as her words begin to soothe the wounds that bled so much, that tore open each day a little more.

“Now, my son, I believe it’s time for you to return home.”

* * *

Steve hasn’t entered Tony’s room since the Warehouse Incident. It’s here that he finds himself upon return from Asgard.

It’s late already, an unholy hour between too late and too early, when he slips into the bed, and closes his eyes.

There’s a flash of bright white-blue light beyond his closed lids.

He feels the heat in the air that seems to simply rush past him.

The air is charged with silence and darkness now, the rich smell of the rain, undertones of ozone and amaranths and earth.

The door to the bedroom opens.

Steve smiles despite himself at the confused cursing.

“ _…and what was once lost will come back to you_ ”

“I just, I-- _Steve_?”

“Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. **Frigga** : married to Odin, step-mother to Thor and his bro's. Frigg means the “beloved one”, Frigg was associated with love, marriage, fertility, and motherhood. She was exceptional important to married woman. She had the power of prophecy yet she does not reveal what she knows. Frigg was the only one other than Odin who is permitted to sit on his high seat, and look out over the universe. The name of her house was Fensalir, the name means “marsh hall”. The woman would often go close to the wet marsh lands to worship Frigg.   
> 2\. **Idun** was a goddess who guarded the apples of youth. Idun had long golden hair and was the goddess of spring and eternal youth. She supplied the gods with the apples of youth, to keep them forever young.   
>  3\. **Snotra** : She was associated with wisdom, and was very smart.  
> 4\. **Yggdrasil (The world tree)** : the trees root that reached Asgard contains the well of Urd, and this was the tree where the Norns (Fates) lived . Their names were Urd “past”, Verdani “present” and Skuld “future” The three Norns was the goddesses of fate. They spent most of their time spinning the threads of life, deciding the fate of every human, animal and every god.   
> 5\. **Amaranth** : (means "never withering")a symbol of immortality by the Greeks because it is dry and remains live for a long time (and was said to be rejuvenated when placed in water)
> 
> Any questions? Leave me a comment and I'll answer :D (I went and got into some mythology and started getting too in-depth ^^; Sorry!)


End file.
